Pieces In A Pocket
by wee-me
Summary: 100 Kisses Challenge: Story using items from the 100 Kisses list. The oft referenced tour is finally explained and we find Marshal is not anyone's favorite welcome to a new place. Ch 18 is up!
1. Butterfly Flew Away

**Pieces In A Pocket**

By Wee-Me

Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own The Ghost With The Most, nor any of his cohorts. All Beetlejuice related characters are the beautiful brain children of Tim Burton.

Also,_ this story contains mention of suicide, I in no way advocate it._ If the subject is sensitive for you please do not continue.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a response to the Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge. This story is here for Llewlyn (because she threatened me - just kidding) and I hope it's up to standards. I think it's sweet, but it might be considered angst if you look at it that way. My mind veered off the beaten path.

Chapter Title: Butterfly Flew Away

Used Items: # 73. Butterfly Knife and # 21. Silk Handkerchief

He always kept it close to his heart, just as he did her though they never agreed on anything and hardly seemed to get along. He had made a name for himself, one that he wasn't even allowed to say, as a prankster or a monster, depending on who you asked, who cared for no one but himself. He did care for himself, and quite a lot, but it simply wasn't the case that he didn't care for others. He cared and he cared a lot, but only about a select few and in a way that could not be proven nor used against him at a later date. Plausible deniability is a must to keep up his reputation.

His select few as of this moment, as he sits drinking whiskey by the fire in the den of his dilapidated old house on the outskirts of the Netherworld, is made up of three individuals. His three include a handsome young (relatively speaking) poltergeist named Betelgeuse (if you just wanted to be technical), a recently added young (accurately speaking) flesh wearer named Lydia A.K.A. Babes who knew him by his hooked-on-phonics name Beetlejuice, and his dear-ish friend Juno who could make him feel bad without ever saying his name. His thoughts tonight were running toward the maudlin as he worked on his second bottle of whiskey, being banished back to the land of the dead always did that to him.

"Maybe that's why 'm thinkin' 'bout old Junebug an' all that other friend-y crap. Better than worryin' 'bout my Babes. And now I'm talkin' to myself. Great. Spend two years in a waiting room and leave crazier than ever."

It is a piece of Juno that keeps close to his heart, that he rests his hand over now through his jacket. Of his favored few he is only allowed a part of Juno now, he has himself all to himself, and he will not settle for having less than all of his Babes. The piece that rests over his non-beating heart is a gift that she gave him when he was to be punished, stripped of his own fine name, and no longer her assistant. If he were honest with himself (and who else was there to be honest with?) he'd admit that the part of his punishment that stung the most was losing all the time he got to spend with his closest, and possibly only, friend.

Juno had chosen him to be her helper from the ranks of the dead-end dead, those who had little or no hope of moving on or being allowed to simply un-live in the Netherworld outside of the main office. It seemed that the higher ups knew that there was something special and dangerous about him long before he ever showed any outward sign of greatness. So, though he had died long before her, Juno outranked him and he was plucked from the paper-sorting nightmare of the Form Center and into her office as her assistant. This had given him the chance to flex his mind and his powers so he had stayed satisfied in his position for several decades before he'd begun to cause trouble and eventually get himself booted.

They had gotten as close to each other as a man and woman could without either having a single romantic feeling for the other, and that was much closer than he ever would have believed without having experienced it personally. They spent all their time together, when he wasn't in trouble, either at the office or at her tiny apartment (this was long before he was allowed out of the office alone) swapping stories, joking around, or simply enjoying the other's company. She had warned him that someday he would get into trouble that she wouldn't be able to protect him from the punishment of, and when that day had come he was sure that she had been just as brokenhearted as he was.

He had waited in her office as she got his sentencing papers from the higher ups, and he hadn't waited patiently. After situating and re-situating his personage in a chair and about the room several times he started moving things in her office, such as her desk, filing cabinets, and a small box he pulled from within his many pocketed jacket. He was mid-pace when she walked in and considering an attempt at moving her desk to the ceiling. Her eyes were spilling tears and sobs were ripped from both her mouth and the slit in her throat. He had held her until she was calm, that being the only thing he could think of, what seemed like hours.

"Never could do with a crying woman. Makes me sick, an' I can't think. Always makes me stupid, do stuff I regret. Hmm, third bottle of whiskey. Tastes better than the others. Aww, doin' it again, gotta stop talkin' to myself. Drinkin' will help, can't talk and drink."

When she regained her composure, she pressed it into his hands, a small bundle of something. It turned out to be a beautiful black handled butterfly knife wrapped in a silk handkerchief with a "J" in script in the corner. On further inspection both the wickedly honed blade and the blue cloth were marred by a dried red liquid he knew somehow was blood. When he looked up to ask her what it meant she gazed at him with such open affection that he was struck silent as she told her story, a story she shared only with him, never before and never again.

"_I was never the most popular, never the most beautiful or smartest or any of that. I was never anybody's favorite, or anybody's friend. I was always just the quiet girl off to one side that no one really noticed. That's why I did it in the end. You see, I was sort of lonely my whole life, but it was never too bad because I thought that at least someone would care if I lived or died. And then I found out that they didn't. _

_ I was sick for maybe a week, too sick to even get word to anyone, sick enough that I stayed in bed for nearly five days solid and no one noticed. I was living in a house with my father, brother, and sister and not one of them noticed that I wasn't around. They acted surprised when I mentioned it, and said they hadn't realized. That's when I decided, I figured if all I was doing was taking up space I might as well free if up for someone who could better use it. _

_ My sister stumbled in a while later, as I bled out, she wanted to borrow my earrings. She held my handkerchief to my neck and yelled for help. That's the most attention I ever got when I was alive. After I was dead they all counted my virtues and told stories about me, most of which never happened. My sister wore the earrings she was coming to ask for to my funeral. All in all it was a lousy ending to a lousy life."_

She gazed at him steadily, her expression one of unwavering affection while his own face began to crumple and he teared up. She moved around her desk to kneel in front of him.

"**_And I know that if I had just had a friend like you, I wouldn't have done it. But now that I'm here and have you I don't regret it at all. Now I just don't know what I'll do without you."_**

She looked near tears again so he gathered her up onto his lap and rocked her gently, his own voice unsteady as he spoke.

"_**I'm sorry Junebug. I never meant to leave you here, it's jus' I'm not meant for this place. I need to get out, stretch myself, get the Juice flowin'. I'd take you with me, if you'd go." **_

"_**No, you know that I can't. I belong here as much as you belong out there, even if you are out terrorizing everyone." **_

She stood then and dried her eyes, taking an unnecessary breath for calm.

"_**Now it's time for you to go. Beetlejuice . . . "**_

He pressed the knife back into her hands, it was obviously significant to her, and stood awaiting his banishment form this place that held his only friend.

"_**No Beetlejuice, I want you to have it. Keep it with you and remember me. The next time you see me we'll be on opposite sides and we won't be dealing on friendly terms. You keep that knife and remember what you mean to me."**_

He hugged her then, touched by her words and saddened, then spoke in a voice thickened by tears as he slid the knife into his inner breast pocket over his heart.

"_**G'bye Juno."**_

"_**Goodbye, Beetlejuice."**_

And then he was gone.

He often wondered if she had found his own parting gift, a piece of himself that he'd painstakingly wrapped and left on her desk with a note, the package he'd fiddled with as he waited. He'd last seen it just before she said his name that third and final time. He sort of thought she had it, but could never be sure and he was always in too much trouble to be left alone for very long in her office.

"Maybe if I got in just a little trouble I could snoop a bit, anyways it'd get me in to see 'er and she'd never have to know I missed her. It'd kill some time 'til I can solve The Lydia Problem an' get back to the land of the breathers, too. Yeah, first day home and I already have an un-life plan, and Juno says I don't listen. Guess I can prove her wrong tomorrow. Tonight isn't over yet though so I still got time for drinkin' an' thinkin'. And I'm doing it again, shut up me."

The rest of the night was spent with whiskey, the fire, and his memories.

And there you have it

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: See? Not sad, heart warming-ish. I will likely continue with Beetlejuice's gift, for those of you that wondered. Depending on the response I get on this, I also have a few ideas for some other challenge topics that might wind up here. Please review if you would like and thank you for reading. In any case, whether it was good or bad, Llewlyn can put down the stick because I've met her demands. giggle

Wee-Me


	2. A Friend Indeed

**Pieces In A Pocket**

By Wee-Me

Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own The Ghost With The Most nor any of his cohorts. All Beetlejuice related characters are the beautiful brain children of Tim Burton.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a second response to the Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge. It is from Juno's POV and what she thought about BJ's gift to her. It also has some mention of death so be warned. Much thanks to my two reviewers, Doormouse and Llewlyn, you are the reason that this is out so quickly (for me). Thanks bunches. Hopefully _this _time won't mess with my format.

Chapter Title: A Friend Indeed

Used Items: 54. Compass, 79. Signet Ring, 78. Wax, & (vaguely) 1. Keys, 3. Watches, 12. Waiting Room Numbers

_I'll kill him, that's what I'll do. I'll kill him and then I'll feel better. _

Killing him would be technically impossible, but getting him banished could be done. No she, Juno, might be a lot of things but overly vindictive isn't one of them, mostly because in this case it wouldn't even work. Even though Beetlejuice held the title of the most irritating creature living or dead and caused chaos on a daily basis her bosses had decided they wouldn't even try to punish him unless a life or one of the worlds was in danger of being destroyed. The temptation to try was still there, just the same, to try and get rid of him. If she weren't so sure that he had missed her company she might still lobby for his doom or at least some harsh punishment for the ruin that was once her office.

_He'd better have missed me, if he knows what's good for him. _

The poor room in question is hidden behind the door marked JUNO that Juno herself is leaning against as she waits to calm down enough to enter without screaming and maiming someone. She'd known that nothing good could come of this day when Beetlejuice had shown up in her office before midday voluntarily. He had barged in and slammed the door, in the face of the poor girl whose number had just been called, before beginning a rant that she couldn't decipher because of his speed talking. Her mind ran over the list of things that could have driven him here and coming up with nothing sat back to watch the show and hope for the best. As she waited for him to slow to coherency she noticed that he had dropped the overweight, moldy look he had adopted for his work at the Maitland/Deetz home. He was back to his slim physique and less messy somehow, though he remained unkempt in his rumpled suit, mussed hair, and unnaturally pale skin.

_He'd be handsome if I didn't know him as well and if he didn't always turn my life on end. Now he's like a pesky younger brother to me, I love him but would pound him with little or no provocation. _

As she watched him pace and rant small objects from around her office began zooming toward him at alarming speeds and into his pockets. When his "Juice" gets going it's like he has his own gravitational field, and it doesn't take just small objects - she once had to fish her desk out of that very jacket. Detritus from the "Cast Off" bin (the bin for the new Netherworldians just crossed over to cast off things from their living-lives in the breathing world) was whirring around her like bees; watches, keys, trash, and thousands of waiting room numbers from her own waiting area all threw themselves at him in search of a new home. Interrupting her musings as she heard something that sounded suspiciously like "missed my Junebug" she decided to break in.

_Shouldn't let him call me that, it undermines my authority. But it's so sweet. Sigh. I'll let it slide for now. _

"As much as I would enjoy having you fill my whole day with your rant, I do have appointments to keep so either speak clearly or get out."

He stopped short, goggling at her tone, then morphed himself to look like a meek, slightly creepy child as he perched weeping on the edge of her guest chair.

"I jus' wan'ed to see 'ou Juno."

_Must keep straight face, can't fall for his tricks. _

"How sweet. The lisp is a nice touch, but pigtails don't suit you. Now why are you here?"

He reverted back to his normal form with a pop.

"I thought I was adorable. I'm here to lodge a complaint. How come it is that for more years than I can count I do anythin' and someone is there ready to bust me, but when I'm tryin' to stir somethin' up this mornin' nobody even blinks? Does everybody jus' get ta do whatever they want now? If this is the system now I demand reparations for the punishments I got . . ."

"No. Just no. You make my head hurt. The system has not changed for everyone. Just you. The higher powers have decided that unless someone or some world is being destroyed then the system won't get involved." _Please tell me he didn't take that as license to do whatever he wants. Oh please let me be that lucky, just this once. _"We have however put out notice in the Netherworld that our citizens simply need to say your name three times to send you home if you are disturbing their peace. What were you doing anyway? And more importantly, why were you trying to get in trouble?"

If she lived (or unlived) another thousand years she'd never forget the sheepish look and faint blush upon his handsome face. He fidgeted, cleared his throat, then spoke in a gruff embarrassed tone as he fiddled with his tie.

"Jus' havin' some fun, flipped a couple houses over. Still livable though - only turned the outside over, inside's still the same, only a little trouble like I said. An' I told ya why, I missed ya."

This last part was spoken so softly that had a sheet of paper fallen it would have drowned him out. She felt all soft inside, it had to have killed him to admit but he rarely lied to her, despite the change of their relationship.

_Don't make me like you. Why do you always make me like you? _

She forced a scowl onto her face to keep a goofy, dreamy grin from appearing and let him squirm a moment before speaking.

"Some days I hate you."

"Hey! I was jus' bein' nice an' . . ."

"Some days I hate you. Like just now when you made me love you a little, you big idiot. Liking you makes my life harder. Even being nice, you manage to turn my day upside down."

Where his face had just been indignant and hurt it was now smug and smirking - somebody needed to knock him down a peg or three.

"Of course, if anyone ever asked why I like you I could always tell them the heart-warming story of how you broke the law just to see me. Wouldn't that just be precious?"

_Ha! That hit him where it hurts, his stupid reputation. _

She knew his "plausible deniability" policy about affection so this would certainly get him to back off the smug attitude . . . about this.

"So what have you been up to Betelgeuse?"

Smiling a little while he actively perused the "Cast Off" bin (his form of shopping), pocketing two thirds of its contents, he spoke of his life since they'd last had a chat like this a few decades before, and then she filled in her part with anecdotes of the newly departed. She'd killed an hour with him, happy just to spend time with him again, when she got called to the Reception desk. She'd told him to behave (a huge, glaring mistake) and headed out, stepping over the poor, sleeping girl she should have been talking to, and over to Reception to break up a fight with the impatient inhabitants of the waiting room carrying a single file folder with her.

_Can't leave this for him to get his grubby mitts on. _

It had taken just a few minutes to fix, but when she returned to her office it turned out a few minutes was far too long. When she opened the door he was standing on her overturned desk in a sea of papers hip deep looking like a raccoon caught digging in the trash, even his form shifted to it as she screamed his name and whirled, slamming the door. Which is how she, mighty Juno, came to be leaning against her own office door and contemplating killing him in the first place.

_Yes, I'll just have to kill him. _

With a deep sigh she turns and enters her office to find it . . . cleaner than it was when she moved in. His royal pain is sitting on the edge of her desk trying to look innocent with a flashing neon halo over his head. Too late to stop herself she says half his name before she gets fully through the door and sees what he has done, or rather undone. Apparently he has paid more attention than she to what she has said, and knows this third time will send him home, as he freezes her mouth so he can speak his piece.

"Sorry ' bout the mess, just lookin' for somethin'. Everything's in place and I didn't steal any files - although that one was a dirty trick. I'm glad you kept the, you know, the present, and in a fancy box too. It's still true, every word. I know I can't come botherin' you for a while, so I'll see ya' 'round Junebug."

A quick hug she gladly returns, a peck on her cheek, and then he unfreezes her mouth and it finishes his name - no matter that she tries to stop it.

_He always leaves when I want to thank him. Why is that? _

And then he is gone again, out to create chaos and mayhem, out where he belongs. With a deep sigh she turns to her desk to try to figure out what he was talking about.

_Might as well look around, today is shot schedule-wise anyway. What dirty trick? I don't know . . . oh, the other Lydia Deetz file. Well, he deserved it. And he found it, no wonder he decided to behave. _

On her desk sit a slim file folder marked Deetz, Lydia L and a heavy wooden box that is ornately carved with images of an energy burst on the sides and two insects inlaid in stone upon the lid. Inside it rests a compass of brass and a note. The box she had had commissioned to hold the compass and note addressed to "Juno" in a heavy masculine hand. The box is even lined in the music sheet it was wrapped in (signed in a frivolous, feminine script "Bartholomew Starr") when he left it upon her desk all those decades upon decades ago.

With shaking hands she lifts the compass and fumbles open the clasp to reveal inscriptions on both the inner lid and the glass. The inscriptions were done just for her, etched with that "Juice" he is so proud of, his very spectral essence. In the lid a quote from Yeats: **"Think where man's glory most begins and ends, And say my glory was I had such friends."**

_That jerk would have to go and be sweet to me._

On the glass it read: **"This way lies my truest friend"**. And no matter where she happened to be in the room he had charmed the arrow to point toward her. She reverently places the compass back into its home and lifts up the letter. She has read it a thousand times or more, memorized it after the first, but reading it she can hear his voice and feel his presence from the page. The paper seems even to still carry his scent as she folds it open. His rich voice fills her mind as she settles herself and begins to read.

Dear Junebug,

Well if this isn't a fine mess I've gotten into. I'm so, so sorry. Not for breaking the rules, because they're pointless, but because I'm going to have to leave you behind. I do not belong here, trapped in an office for the rest of time doing paperwork. I need to get out and see what's out there. I also know that I can't take you with me because this is the best place for you. I really want to be selfish (and it would be so easy), to take you along, but I don't want you to end up hating me. I couldn't bear if another person I care about wound up hating me.

When I was a boy hardly nine, my mother died and it was a long, slow death taking nearly a year. I was her world, her shining star, and I loved her more than anything else in the world. I loved my father too, but it wasn't the same as with my Ma. Losing Ma made my Da turn mean and cruel and he wasn't my Da anymore. Where I had once been my Ma's sweet little Ronan and my Da's good son, I was now this hard angry stranger's disgusting, annoying Beetle. He didn't want me around reminding him of my mother, as I have her pale blond hair and great green eyes, but he felt a duty to keep me alive (and only that) and he held that over me every day I was with him.

I ran away when I was around twelve, hard to recall now, to make my fortune out in the world (much like I am now). Before I left I gathered a few precious things, the star signet my Ma had done for me - a gift intended for the day I married, my grandfather's (my mother's father) brass compass, and my father's music sheets. He had wooed my mother with music so I suppose he had some talent, though it was not his trade. He had begun writing a new piece when my mother fell sick, but had only just finished it when I left, the ink hardly dry where he signed. I took off before he got home and I always wondered what he thought when he came home to find it missing, I know for sure that he cared more about its absence than my own. I guess I was a bit jealous of the attention he gave it that should have been spent on me, I guess that's why I've kept it.

I made my way around Europe, spending time as a pirate and then as a robber on horseback. I was a great thief no matter where I was or how I set about doing it, it was part of my gift. All throughout my life, no matter where I was or what I was doing I heeded that compass and it often saved my life. Then when I was in my twenties it led me to the next stage of my life here in the afterlife.

I suppose I was a little magic even then, sparks came from my hands at times and I glowed some, just sometimes more than others. Whatever the case, I followed my compass into a little town I heard would be safe for me despite my criminal career to wait out the chills and cough I had developed from roaming in the cold and rain. As it turns out, I was a few miles off and east when I was trying for southeast and this town was not as welcoming as the one I sought. I stumbled into the inn sick and shaking and they took one look at me pale, hair and eyes wild, glowing noticeably and decided that I was some messenger of the Devil sent to infect the town. Or kill them all, something. There might have been something about stealing their souls in there too, but I was running a fairly high fever at the time so some of the details are hazy. I spent three days in the damp of their basement gaol while they waited for the rain to let up so I could be burned at the stake before I finally lost to the fever and died in my sleep.

Not as exciting an end as everyone expects of me. When I arrived here I chose a new name, I was no longer Ronan Starr and hadn't been for quite sometime. I'd picked up some astronomy when I tried my hand at pirating so I chose the name most like my own - "Beetle" Starr became Betelgeuse the star. And then I waited for you to find me. My last living dreams spoke of a goddess-named woman that would save me from despair. (Told you I was magic.) You, Juno, are my guiding star. You are my only friend and the only being that has shown me true kindness since my mother. 

I have little that would truly be of any value to you, but I'm leaving my grandfather's compass to you, it was my most prized possession in my life and the one I used to get to you. I don't need it anymore because I have you to point my way (just don't expect me to follow it). I'll miss you, and I hope you'll miss me as well.

Yours,

Betelgeuse

Juno slides the letter back into the box, her hand brushing over the emerald green wax he'd sealed it with - the mark that of the shooting star from the signet ring his mother had left him. A tear escapes as she closes the box, her hand tracing the emerald beetle and tiger's-eye junebug upon the lid.

_A natural storyteller, at least when the story is about himself. And he writes better than he speaks, more clearly at least. You wouldn't know he had a brain in his head just to hear him talk. I love him though. Sigh. Back to work._

The box gets tucked away again and she opens her office back to those poor souls who need her assistance, though her mind remains on the gift and its giver. A woman long starved of love and attention in life, she feels love now even though she rarely sees the elusive trickster unless something has been destroyed. Still, just knowing she is someone's guiding star is enough to get her through this day and all the others until she sees him again.

Her thoughts of him run to the warm and fond until she leads her last client of the day out of her office wanting nothing more than a few hours without needy spirits, when she spots her door and the change that has been made to it. It now reads JUNEBUG in childish print that looks to be done in crayon. In the background she can almost hear the faint laughter of the perpetrator. She remains still, all warm thoughts gone, and thinks it over.

_Oh, yes, definitely have to kill him. _

And that's that.

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: Love and aggravation. All my relationships have varying measures of the two. I hope you like it. Oh, and two things: 1) technically the compass is no longer in his pocket, but he carried it for a really long time so I say it counts and 2) the W. B. Yeats quote came from The Oxford Dictionary of Modern Quotations 1991 edited by Tony Augarde. (This is something I read in my free time because I'm a nerd.) This little snippet of story (which turned out annoyingly long) also has unintentional pseudo-angst. And I didn't intend to write his death, I swear I didn't know how he died until I wrote it, and he wouldn't cooperate when I tried to leave it out. There might be more to this story, it just depends on how I feel in the next few days. Questions? Comments? Input is appreciated.

Wee-Me


	3. Potential

**Pieces In A Pocket**

By Wee-Me

Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own His Ghostliness, his pockets, nor anyone associated with either. All Beetlejuice related items are the mind progeny of Tim Burton.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a third response to the Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge. Sorry it took so long between the second bit and this one, I was sick and had to kick myself off the computer for a while so I could sleep and keep up with my studies. sigh Stupid reality.

Chapter Title: Potential. . .

Used Items: 12. Waiting Room Numbers, 91. Spiders, 88. Rats, 90. Beetles, 96. Bug Wings,

97. Snake Skins

BEETLEJUICE'S POV

Our hero (doesn't that sound wrong?) sits in his den sipping coffee and picking waiting room numbers out of his hair and clothing to toss into the fire.

_Little buggers never fail to get everywhere. _

He is thinking about a young woman he cares deeply for, one Lydia Lenore Deetz. Our hero (that really doesn't sound right), one Betelgeuse, is desperately wracking his brain to come up with some sort of plan to get back to his Babes. One might wonder, what could have caused this strange infatuation when this poltergeist met this poor girl for an extremely brief amount of time when she was in her early teens? His answer is this: _Hell if I know_. It was an unplanned meeting of chance (in his unscrupulous past he has planned some "meetings of chance") and he'd adored her from the first time he'd laid eyes on her. It was love at first sight as a giant snake trying to kill her father.

_Maybe she won't hold that against me. And maybe Juno will come give me a hug and her blessing. The hell am I gonna do? _

He had desperately wanted her for his own, and had nearly gotten her when those lousy Maitlands interfered. If they'd just left him alone he would be happy somewhere with his beautiful wife living the good life topside and beyond the rules. By now he might even be able to sleep without her trying to run off or stab him in the neck. Her parents hadn't objected, simply huddled off to the side and never said a word.

_Why didn't they do anything? I mean, they were right there, why did someone else have to "save" their kid? Didn't need savin' but still. . ._

Leaving thoughts of his future in-laws alone for some other time when he is in a different mood, either more forgiving or more angry, he turns back to his thoughts of Lydia and what he thinks of as their impending nuptials. It is true that he must marry a mortal to get a permanent

pass to travel amongst the living without fear of Juno dragging him back, though she'd likely still try. He has known about this stipulation for decades at least and had many, many chances to snag himself a bride, willing or unwilling, before Lydia. Yet, he had said he would only marry once and he meant it and the young Miss Deetz caught his eye and kept it. And he would have her if it took the rest of his un-life to do it.

He regrets now that he was in "work mode", looking paunchy and dirty when he could have wooed her in his normal state: thin, adorable, and dirty. He changed to "work mode" when on jobs with couples or men, for the first he didn't want jealous husbands sending him back for seducing their wives and for the second he didn't need some chump thinking he wasn't scary or trying to show him up. Once he's chosen a form he can't really deviate from it much without tipping his hand and showing how truly powerful he has become and alerting the authorities to his presence.

_Next time I'll show her how I really am, she'll never be able to resist me. All I have to do is get to her. That file of Juno's was no help, I can't believe she'd trick me like that. That's more like me than I'd like to give her credit for. _

The file in question is one he viewed in Juno's office the previous day. Juno knew him a little too well for his liking because she had hidden Lydia's real file from him and left him a fake that had only a post-it reading "**Leave her alone. She's not going to call you and she wants nothing to do with you. Bother someone else. -Juno**". He held a grudging admiration for Juno's sneakiness, but it worried him that she might be right, that Lydia might not want to have anything to do with him.

_Maybe I ought to send her a present, do a little romantic prep work. But what does a girl like Lyds want that I might have? _

He begins fishing through his pockets for something suitable, he might love her but he still doesn't want to shop if he can avoid it. Contrary to popular belief he has more than just spiders, snakes, rats, beetles, and that ilk in his coat. He has to carry gross things for work, part of the job after all, and he can't exactly carry a briefcase- briefcases are only scary for lawyers. He actually has just one pocket filled with various disgusting articles, but many tiny "wormholes" to get to it so that he didn't have creatures running lose in his clothes with him. If he didn't keep it all contained and magically preserved he'd be left with an empty pocket full of droppings, snake skins, bug wings, and other detritus when he needed to pull off a good scare and he would end up looking like a rookie. It would ruin his rep and he'd have to hunt the little buggers out of his house.

His third go at haunting once he'd been banished had yielded just such a problem. He had been fresh out of the office and willing to do any work so when a recently dead business man called him to keep a group of nuns from turning his former offices into an orphanage he had readily agreed. He had scared the living daylights out of them and was reaching into his jacket to release a storm of locusts maybe a snake or two for good measure as his big finish when he had fished out only lint and wings. It had so thrown him off his game that the group of women had laughed hysterically and he had looked so at a loss that one of them had even attempted to comfort him. That was the day he started storing his props in stasis and one of the few jobs he had given up and admitted defeat. That was also when he decided that his true, sexy self was sometimes dangerous leading to the birth of the paunchy work mode look.

_Never been felt up by a nun before, and it's not happening again if I can help it. Guh!_

Other than the gross out gags, he has many other things to line his pockets most of which he has liberated from their previous owners, both from active thieving and the unconscious pull of his gravitational field. He has jewels, shiny doodads, bits of paper, tons of garbage, valuable artifacts, and a certain red bouquet that had fallen down the sand worm hole after him.

_Wonder if she still has the dress? Good color for her. Well I can just make her a new one. She's prolly grown some anyhow. Bet she's still gorgeous though. Maybe if I just peek she won't notice me, and I can get some idea what she wants. And more important Juno and the higher ups won't come bust me for it and break my mirrors. _

It is well known in the Netherworld amongst the spirits that mirrors work as doorways. These doors lead to the living world, around the Netherworld, and into supernatural places that few living or dead can fathom, although these places have often been a temporary home for Betelgeuse. He knows better than anyone, at least in his own mind, how to travel the silvered surfaces and see through them like a window and avoid being seen, at least for a while. He has used this little trick to pass himself off as a mark's deceased relative on multiple occasions to get himself called out, and it is the perfect trick to use now.

If he watched her he'd have more of an edge on how to woo her, what to give her, and how to get to her, plus he'd take any excuse to see her.

_Why didn't I think of this sooner? Shoulda done this right off. Crap! _

With a mixture of frustration and barely contained glee he poofs himself to his bedroom, too excited for the stairs, and nearly rips the velvet covering in half trying to reveal his silver standing mirror. The mirror is old, a hundred or more years old, the stand is made of solid silver covered in intricate designs and the mirror itself is old and showing its age. He preens in the full length surface for only a moment before wrapping his hands around the edges and leaning in for a look.

_If I could just see a little further, c'mon, c'mon, wait . . .There! _

And indeed, there stands his little flower in her now expanded room gaping like a fish at her surroundings. She seems pale even for herself and at a total loss as to what is going on around her.

_What's going on? She can't see me, I know she can't. Has something happened?!?_

He has paled, no easy feat, and is fully prepared to break every rule in the book to get to her and protect her from whatever. And then she speaks.

"Wha'? Wha'? What did she do to my room? I leave for a few months and she covers my room in mirrors? How does that even remotely seem like something I'd like? Barbara!"

He is aware now that she is correct, there are mirrors covering all of her walls and even the ceiling, he has simply connected with the oldest one there which is over the head of her four post bed directly across from the door.

_Now I can see her from all angles, this has potential. And here's the bumpkin ghost herself. Why does she look so guilty? Did she do this? What's goin' on?_

Barbara has entered the room, but only to the edge of the door, and is staring at her shoes as she nervously toes the floor and wringing her hands. She looks as if she has just kicked a puppy, or maybe like she is a kicked puppy.

"Barbara, what is this? Mirrors? I thought you were going to keep Delia out of my room."

"Sweetie this was the lesser of the evils, I promise. At least you can cover up mirrors. And I made sure they all had dark, scary frames so they wouldn't clash with your other stuff. I tried, I really did."

The poor specter looks close to tears, her curls bouncing as she takes in miserable shuddery breaths, and Lydia rushes to reassure her with a hug.

_I never got a hug and we were engaged. I was robbed! I demand compensation. _

"It's not so bad. I overreacted and I'm sorry I snapped at you. I was just really surprised to see so many me-s when I walked in. For a minute I thought Delia had done hundreds of paintings of me. Eww. Come on, don't cry, I'm sure you did your best and I appreciate it. At least it isn't pink or full of her artwork. Now that would be worth crying over."

She gives a delicate shudder and Barbara giggles, drying up her tears.

"She was going to do pink. Pink walls with pink animals. Like pink flamingoes, elephants, and I think shrimp were mentioned a few times. I had to talk her down to mirrors, or she would have done sculpture for you. I knew you wouldn't want that junk cluttering up your workspace so I got her to do as little as possible, and this was it. And I made sure she didn't touch anything. We wouldn't want another INCIDENT."

They share an exasperated look, then Lydia turns to survey the room looking a little lost in thought.

_The hell? C'mon, share the joke. _

"Hmm. Maybe I can make it a wall collage type thing, a little antique-y, a little gothic. Maybe old keys, lockets, and stuff. And lace. Oh, and dried flowers. Yeah, it has potential."

_I coulda told ya that. _

"But I'll have to put my canopy back over the bed and keep it drawn when I sleep."

_No, no, no. Keep it open, you can wear a sleep mask or somethin'. Maybe a nightie to go with it. Just don't close the curtains. _

"Yeah, I'm glad she left the hook up there, I can rehang it pretty easily. I'd hate to wake up with all those mirrors looking at me, all those faces, I'd feel like I was being watched. Ick."

_Hey! No ick. You oughta be glad someone's watchin' out for ya. And you're killing my fun. Don't hang the canopy, c'mon, I'll be good. Ish. Maybe. _

Barbara finally interrupts Lydia'smusings as she peers across the room at his mirror.

"Hey Lydia?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you see something on that mirror? It kind of looks like a face?"

"Where?"

He realizes that he has stayed too long, even moving mirror to mirror, and has become somewhat visible so he cuts the connection before he can be caught. It is not what he had intended, but for a first "visit" it would have to do. It had yielded some information that would aid him in his cause. He knows now about her artistic interests from her workspace and a look around, and her conversation has given him several gift ideas.

_Antique-y collage, huh? I might just have some stuff to fit that bill. _

Most important however is that he has gotten a look at Lydia herself, and it was even better than he had been imagining. She is still tiny, hardly an armful, and on the short side. Slender, slight, still pale as moonlight and lovely all the way around. Her eyes are a deep blue, like the ocean, and wide like a child. She has kept up the dark queen look, still Poe's daughter even after all this time, but much less flamboyant or ridiculous now. Black pants and a matching top covered her completely, embroidered here and there with tiny skulls, fitting both her body and personality snugly. It was by no means revealing, but it still managed to show off that she has indeed transformed into a curvy young woman.

Her inky hair is longer now, but wrapped in a bun held with black chopsticks and only a few thick pieces escaping to frame her face, it fits much better with her new adult look. Most amusing to him were the brilliantly scarlet toe socks peeking from under her pants legs, a bit of playfulness that would have been covered up all day by her now discarded boots, an amusing secret for herself when she had to go out and at least pretend to be a responsible adult. All in all she is still his dark bride, and even more perfect with the passage of time.

With a final wistful glance at the mirror he leaves his bedroom behind, heading to his den for a little strategy session at his writing desk, a list and a plan of action are just what he needs, then she won't stand a chance. He cackles, full of hope, energy, and schemes. And somewhere, on the other side of the mirror, a young woman shivers for no apparent reason, a strange mixture of dread and anticipation gathering in the pit of her stomach.

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: Lydia's POV for this chapter will follow soon. This is dedicated to Llewlyn, welcome back, I've missed you a bunch. Everyone go read her stories, they're fantabulous.


	4. For Disaster

**Pieces In A Pocket**

By Wee-Me

Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge

**DISCLAIMER: **The pockets, pranks, and personage of His Most Poltergeistiness do not belong to me, nor do any associated persons of interest. All Beetlejuice related places and populations belong to Tim Burton, I am merely moved to use them now and again.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a fourth response to the Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge. Lydia's POV from the last chapter. Has this turned into a chaptered story? I think it has, and will change the summary accordingly. Thanks to my loyal reviewers Llewlyn and Doormouse, new reviewer Jikei yo, and anyone else who reads this bit of madness. Please enjoy.

Chapter Title: . . . for Disaster

Used Items: None really

LYDIA'S POV

Lydia Deetz, young author, artist and fashionista sought after by both the living and the dead the world over (and Under), may be an accomplished young adult in the sane, rational world but in the Maitland/Deetz home she will forever be "Little Lyddie" (but mostly when she's out of earshot). At 23 years old she is legally an adult but in the eyes of two sets of parents she will be eternally 16 (or possibly 6 in Charles' case) and as such subject to active parenting.

_Little Lyddie still isn't as bad as Lyds or Babes. Although I suppose if he had really felt something for me to call me that . . . No! Stop thinking about him. It's not healthy and it will get you in trouble._

On this day she has just returned home after a short two month book tour promoting her latest books, one for children and one for adults, about various things magickal both written and illustrated by her dainty hand. She had traveled America and parts of Canada at an exhausting pace and all she wants to do is curl up on her bed and listen as the thunderstorm that has been growing all day finally starts outside her window.

_Home sweet home. No autographs, no interviews, no deranged fans, and only two ghosts. _

Instead of getting to go straight to bed she has been greeted cordially by the Deetz adults, Charles and Delia, who are her father and stepmother. They are leaving in the morning for a month long vacation to wherever Delia has decided is worth going this week, and therefore have little time for hugs and excitement at her return (not that Delia would allow any uncouth emotional displays in the first place).

_Don't strain yourselves with the jumping for joy. _

A hug and kiss from Charles and air kisses from Delia on special occasions are like a rain of affection from else, like the hugs and kisses that Adam and Barbara always give her. She knows that the Deetzs really love her, but in an absent way that has often left her to her own devices.

_Which left me lonely and suicidal. Which let me see ghosts. Which lead me to Adam and Barbara. Which made calling a ghost, no poltergeist, seem like a good idea. It did get me good parents though. Although, having him as a son-in-law would have gotten me some attention from Chuck and De-de. Oh no, sounds like him. Stop thinking about him!_

Delia tells her to be down for dinner in a few hours and then shuttles off to look for hair accessories while Charles packs a carry-on full of various stress medications. As Lydia starts up the stairs to see the Maitlands, Delia flounces toward the kitchen and announces that she "fixed" Lydia's room, no need to thank her. Face drained of color, even more so, Lydia is lurching up the stairs at a good clip before Delia even finishes speaking. Her steps are unsteady from the combination of her high-heeled boots and trepidation.

_I knew she was going to do this! I knew it! I told Barbara she would. Please not pink, anything but pink. _

She stands for a long moment trying to gather courage before turning the knob.

_C'mon, you faced Betelgeuse at sixteen and you can't even look in your room? Stop thinking that name. C'mon me, grow a spine and go do a damage assessment. _

She swings the door open, kicking her boots off as she does, with her eyes closed until she is several feet into the room. When she does open them it is to gape and flinch.

_A thousand faces. Oh my good, dark night, please tell me they aren't paintings. Please not Delia's art. No. It's mirrors. Lots and lots of mirrors. _

An odd energy has settled upon the room, but it is hard to gape and pay attention at the same time, so instead she tries to speak.

"Wha'? Wha'? What did she do to my room? I leave for a few months and she covers my room in **mirrors**? How does that even remotely seem like something I'd like? Barbara!"

The mirrors are absolutely everywhere, except her wood floor and windows, covering the room in her own shocked expression. She turns in time to see Barbara ease her way just over the threshold and stand there nervously, looking distraught.

_Shouldn't take this out on her, I'm just stressed out. Calm down Lydia. _

"Barbara, what is this? Mirrors? I thought you were going to keep Delia out of my room."

_Okay, that wasn't calm. I thought I told me to calm down. Oh great and now I've upset Barbara, she's so sensitive._

The poor ghost woman is shaking with the effort of holding in her sobs and gulping air she doesn't need.

"Sweetie this was the lesser of the evils, I promise. At least you can cover mirrors. And I made sure they all had dark, scary frames so they wouldn't clash with your other stuff. I tried, I really did."

Barbara looks more miserable with each breath she shakily takes in so Lydia hugs her and tries to calm her.

"It's not so bad. I overreacted and I'm sorry I snapped at you. I was just really surprised to see so many me-s when I walked in. For a minute I thought Delia had done hundreds of paintings of me. Eww. Come on, don't cry, I'm sure you did your best and I appreciate it. At least it isn't pink or full of her artwork. Now that would be worth crying over."

She shudders a bit, Delia's art has not greatly improved despite her increased fame over the "Ghostly Images Collection" (mostly images of Beetlejuice) and her paintings of Lydia always look more like a drag queen Cher impersonator. Barbara giggles a little and dries her eyes.

_At least one crisis has been dealt with. If only all my problems went away this easily. _

"She was going to do pink. Pink walls with pink animals. Like pink flamingoes, elephants, and I think shrimp were mentioned a few times. I had to talk her down to mirrors, or she would have done sculptures for you. I knew you wouldn't want that junk cluttering up your workspace so I got her to do as little as possible, and this was it. And I made sure she didn't touch anything. We wouldn't want another INCIDENT."

Lydia is drawn from her thoughts of the shrimp arms from that fateful dinner party and how Delia could do the room in them to share an exasperated look with Barbara at her last statement. She turns, taking the room in, and reminisces back to the INCIDENT. Delia had been in the middle of some project or other when she realized she did not have the correct tool she needed to achieve some look with her latest sculpture, unprepared as always. Defying the rules of the house she entered Lydia's studio area in the corner of her then smaller room and began to look around. Feeling at home she rummaged through Lydia's things (smearing watercolors due in to the editor, breaking pastels, and mixing her writings into a large messy pile) before leaving with Lydia's favorite sewing scissors which were soon dulled and essentially ruined in her clay.

That had been a year and a half ago and the battle that ensued had been amazing. This lead to Lydia getting her room expanded, Delia adding a new wing to the house, and Charles spending a lot of time locked in his study. Delia had gone all out: a new and larger master bedroom, a state of the art studio (to show Lydia who was the real artist), and a new guest suite. The Maitlands took exclusive control of the attic as a safe haven away from the madness downstairs. The next floor down became Lydia's home; she expanded her bedroom/studio and bath, added a library/office where the guest room had been, and added a kitchenette. On the bottom floor Charles kept his study, the living room, kitchen, and the new wing jutted from the side hidden from the driveway. They had lost part of their cohesive familial bond and the place felt more like a boarding house now.

Leaving those thoughts behind she gets back to the room and is struck by a vague image of the room's potential excellence. She sees a trip to the resale shop buying spree in her future. She still wishes that Delia had stayed out, but it can be salvaged and made her own if she works at it a little. Maybe it will get her mind off her troubles.

"Hmm. Maybe I can make it a wall collage type thing, a little antique-y, a little gothic. Maybe old keys, lockets, and stuff. And lace. Oh, and dried flowers. Yeah, it has potential."

She can almost see it now, but it will have to have her old things as well so that her space remains her own.

"But I'll have to put my canopy back over the bed and keep it drawn when I sleep."

The canopy is made of a certain red wedding dress and has occasionally been a point of contention between herself and her adults who want all evidence of Beetlejuice destroyed or at least hidden, not given a prominent placing. She had altered it a few months after her near-miss-nuptials with a light dress form to give it shape and added long sheer black panels to the skirt. The effect is that the dress looks suspended in mid-air with some unseen person filling it, much like Barbara's wedding dress when Otho summoned her all those years ago. The sheer panels drape over the four bedposts making the bed enclosed, but are thin enough she can see out.

"Yeah, I'm glad she left the hook up there, I can rehang it pretty easily. I'd hate to wake up with all those mirrors looking at me, all those faces, I'd feel like I was being watched. Ick."

The only mirror that will be able to "see" her when she's in bed will be the old silver one just above the head of the bed. Barbara finally speaks up from across the room.

"Hey Lydia?"

_Please let this be about something other than the canopy, I'm not getting rid of it. It's one of the few reminders I have. Oh no, stop thinking like that. _

"Yeah?"

"Do you see something on that mirror? It kind of looks like a face?"

"Where?"

She turns in the direction Barbara is pointing and there is indeed a faint image.

_Pale skin, emerald eyes, ohmigosh. No. No, it can't be him. He's not coming back. Even if you want him to. Which you don't. Really. _

There is a sound like the overblown theatrical smooches her mother used to press to her cheek when they were in a playful mood, the lights flicker, and the image is gone. The strange energy feeling is gone and Lydia feels a sense of loss.

_Get a grip! It wasn't him. It couldn't be. Well, it could, but . . . NO! Don't think about him, and don't you dare think of calling him. Juno is due to check in soon and you can bring it up then. Now say something to Barbara. _

"I'm sure it was just a trick of the lights."

"But then they flickered and there was a weird static thing. I think the Handbook said something about this."

"I think that's probably because of the storm. It should rain this afternoon."

_There, those are good excuses. Now if I could just get myself to believe them I'd be in good shape. Now for a distraction. _

"If you're really worried you can go look in the Handbook."

"Good idea sweetie. Call me if you need any help, okay?"

"You got it. Thanks Barbara."

"And welcome home by the way, you'll have to come upstairs later so we can have a little family celebration later."

"That sounds perfect."

They embrace and Lydia is reminded of her real mother. They break apart and Barbara heads upstairs as Lydia goes to her storage closet for her stepladder. She hefts the ladder and hanging lamp that goes into the skirt so she can read in bed. Once those items are safely in her room she heads to the library where she has hidden her canopy, she doesn't trust her adults not to throw it out "for her own good".

_They don't mind Delia's sculptures or talking to Juno about it, but if I keep the dress or use him for the prototype of my dragon or dark wizard everyone goes crazy. At least Juno understands, sort of. _

As she pulls the dress out of its box she shivers for no reason that she can think of, dread and anticipation settling in to ball in her stomach. It is the same punch she felt when she first saw Beetlejuice, the feeling that something big was about to happen and that she might just enjoy it. Shaking her head as if that will rid her of her thoughts, she is becoming terribly adept at denial, she heads back to her room and over to the bed. In no time the canopy is in its rightful place over her bed and she is adjusting the panels to drape over the bed posts.

Now it is time to carry out her original plan, letting the raging storm outside her window lull her to sleep for a few hours until dinner. She is into a pair of sleep shorts and tossing her top to the floor when the door opens. She can do little more than freeze and clench her eyes shut. Barbara stares at Lydia's bruised and scraped back and arms, dropping the Handbook and the excitement she had felt at finally having found something in it by herself.

"Lydia, what did that monster do to you?"

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: Muhahahaha.


	5. Hello

**Pieces In A Pocket**

By Wee-Me

Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge

**DISCLAIMER: **Once upon a time there was a movie by Tim Burton called "Beetlejuice" that I don't own. I took the characters and put them in a story. This is not the end yet.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the fifth chapter of my Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge writings. Many thanks to the fabulous reviewers who kept me and this story going. There would be no story without you. Llelwyn's guidance meant a lot, if not for her it would have been March before I got this posted. I know it's short, but it's necessary for the plot. Please enjoy anyway.

Chapter Title: Hello

Used Items: None

------////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////------

_**TWELVE MONTHS AGO**_

On a desk in a large white house in Connecticut sit a stack of letters. These letters are for one Lydia Lenore Deetz from her adoring fans. She has read them all, hugging each of them close at the joy she feels for being validated in her craft. On top is the most important, though she does not know it yet. It is the start of something, something big.

Dear Ms. Deetz, 

My name is Marshal and I loved your book. I discovered your books at my local bookstore quite by chance in the "New Authors of Interest" section. I was intrigued by your artwork so I purchased your first book and went home. I started it just before bed and became so involved that I did not get any sleep.

That first night I read your book twice and have read it thirty-three times since then. I made another trip the next morning to purchase your second book, the children's book, and that book of magick drawings. Your faerie Magda is the most wonderful character I have ever come across and your dark wizard is such a fabulous match for her. He reminds me a little of myself. Their romance would be legend.

You are simply a wonder and lovely, if your book jacket pictures can be believed. You seem so like Magda, so beautiful and lithe. I will be joining your fan club at the earliest opportunity. I cannot wait for your next book. 

Your biggest fan, 

Marshal

.oot meht ees I

------////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////------

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: This was originally chapter six, but things went haywire. I have two of the next three chapters written so things appear to be back on track. _-fingers crossed- _The next chapter will be up soon, but I need to know if anyone is still interested before I keep going.


	6. Gifted

**Pieces In A Pocket**

By Wee-Me

Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge

**DISCLAIMER: **It would be illogical to believe I own The Ghost With The Most, he is clearly the creation of Tim Burton. I simply tell tales about him and his friends in a plot that is all my own. (Now I'm off to think about Vulcans and candles.)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The sixth chapter of my response to the Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge. This was originally the fifth chapter and this is where the story stalled out for so long (it's evil I tell you, evil!). Many thanks to my reviewers: Llewlyn (she's the one that convinced me to start this madness and helped me keep it going -_hugs_-), Doormouse (sends fabulous, long reviews), Mad-Hatter-LCarol (crazy, good reviews that make me smile), and Jikei yo (faithful reviewer). Anyone else who chooses to read my ramblings, bless you. Please enjoy the fruit of my mental breakdown.

Chapter Title: Gifted

Used Items: #1. Keys, #42. Hatpin, #55. Ribbon, and #86.Locket

----////////////////////////////////////----

A man, or poltergeist, can only do so much where romance is concerned without begging a woman for help. The only problem for Betelgeuse is that the only two women he really knows are Juno and Lydia. In plain English this means that he's a little bit screwed, as Lydia is the girl he wants to romance and Juno would like do him harm if she became aware of his plotting.

_Juno's too quick to say my name on a good day, I dunno what she'd do to me for this. _

So this endeavor, like many before, will have to be a plot-as-he-goes affair. He had come away from the mirror convinced he could plan this whole thing out and just follow a plan right into her arms. That however is not to be. He came to this conclusion after several hours in his study that had only yielded his first move and a goal outline of two steps: 1) get Lydia, and 2) happily, ever after. His den is littered with scraps of paper with rejected ideas, his hair is split into furrows where his fingers have combed through, and he's out of his jacket with his shirt sleeves rolled up and collar open. He is unkempt and frustrated.

_Plannin' a scare is so much easier. This shouldn't be so hard. Why is this so hard? _

His first move will be to deliver a package to Lydia through the mirror, and of course he will continue to watch her. He has stopped pacing for a moment. His only real concern at the moment is that she might realize who the gift is from and be frightened, the light in the room hits him and the shadows twist his grimace into a nightmarish expression. His den is lit with the fire in the hearth and hundreds of candles. Juno always said that it looked like a cross between a romance novel cover and porno set in his home, but he can't help it if electricity won't work on this side with his energy around. He's looking like a brooding, fallen angel as he starts to pace again the light bouncing crazily off his pearly skin and emerald eyes.

///—///

She is frightened, she realizes with a jerk, as she pages through the papers on her desk. She has gone over the same tasks over half a dozen times and still has not accomplished anything all day. Her desk, her whole workspace, is in desperate need of tidying, but that is the last thing on her mind. Right now she is more worried about how this latest crisis will be resolved than how her deadlines will be met and work get done.

_Why "latest" crisis? Why does my life have to be filled with crises? Why can't things just go normal for a while?_

She, Juno, is frightened for Lydia Deetz's safety. This is not new, she has been a little afraid for the girl since she was sixteen, well it started earlier than that, but that isn't important right now. Lydia is special, and not just in her ability to attract the attention of the wrong sort of man, and it makes her a magnet for danger. Juno has been called upon to protect her many times over the years and has always been able to snatch the girl from the jaws of doom and danger. This danger however is a bit beyond the realm of normal for Juno, it has her so thoroughly frightened she is considering doing something unthinkable.

_I need a drink. _

///—///

_Girl's gonna drive me to drinkin'. Wait, already there. How the hell do you get a bow to stay put? Wait! Gotcha! And, there! _

After much fumbling, cursing, and drinking he is finished bundling together Lydia's gift for its trip through the mirror. He is giving his Babes a few antiques for her wall collage, mostly things he has stolen over the years, wrapped in one of his old, **old **shirts and tied with its ribbon lacings. The shirt is not old enough for him to have worn it is his life, but it is less than a century or two older.

_Don't remember there bein' so much lace on here, it's everywhere. And people think '80s clothes were bad. _

Inside the wear softened linen parcel sit a dozen or so antique keys, of the old house mystery novel type, that he has taken from the various homes he has haunted. A few are smaller than his fingers, some as large as his hand, but the mix is eclectic enough that it should fit Lydia's purposes and style. He likes to take a good souvenir now and again, keys are one of his favorites because it can help a haunt when a breather drives himself a little batty looking for his keys, getting all spooked and ready for the big stuff.

He is also including a locket and hatpin he stole from a suffragette on a picket line back in the olden days when he felt like he sort of understood women (Juno would disagree, but then she always does). He is leaving the original pictures inside, a smiling soldier in uniform facing a pretty young woman in the other side, in the hopes that maybe someday Lydia will ask him about it and he can regale her with tales of his exploits. He has constructed a dozen or so of these little fantasies with Lydia cuddled in his lap by the fire while he tells her stories and holds her tight. His family hearth had always been the happiest place in the home when he was child and he keeps his own fire going constantly just waiting until he has his own family to gather around it. But to get that family he must get through to Lydia, so he rouses himself from his daydreams and back to the task at hand. He debated with himself for an hour or more, loudly and looking more than a little crazy, before finally deciding to include a note.

_Babes is too smart not to realize it's me. Got to give her credit, she's clever my girl, just look at her room all fulla art and what-not. Hey, lookin' in her room sounds like a good idea if I do say so myself. And of course I do. _

His gift all wrapped and ready he heads upstairs chuckling at his own humor to send it on to the land of the living. Out of his den, up the flight of stairs, and into his room to uncover his mirror he goes the slow, human way in an attempt to acclimatize himself to the speed he'll have to adopt around Lydia (at first) so he doesn't scare her off.

_An' Juno says I never think. I'd go rub it in her face, but I'm rather attached to all my limbs bein' where they are. _

He finds her room immediately this time and he finds it changed. It is morning now in her room, sunlight sneaking through the curtains over her many windows and her bed, what he can see of it through the gauzy panels surrounding it, looks as if a small battle was fought upon it. He has connected again to the old mirror over the head of her bed and his view is obscured by hazy black cloth.

_So she put the drapes around her bed. Hmph. Well, at least it's see-through. Looks like she had a hard night. Hope I didn't make her have any nightmares, I want her dreaming about me, but not like that. _

He slides the gift through the mirror between the two panels that have gapped and it falls onto her pillow. He is briefly worried when it continues to glow green with his essence, but it fades after a moment. With his primary goal accomplished he is now free to bounce mirror to mirror and scope out her empty room.

_Lemme just get a look at this great canopy she just had to put up. _

He moves to a mirror nearer the door and gets a shock. Hanging over her bed, the bed she sleeps in each night, is the dress.

THE dress.

His dress. Her dress.

The wedding dress in all its crimson glory.

His brain is stopped, a gear has slipped and it cannot function, his mind is simply repeating over and over that she has kept her wedding dress. THE dress. She kept the dress. She hung the dress. She **sleeps **below the dress. This means something and if his brain could just start working again he would try to figure it out. His mind is slowly re-engaging.

_Thas like hanging me over her bed. 'S almost like she's sleeping under me. _

His mind slips off to picture that, but he is soon focused again. He smiles now, a wide smug smile, because he has it all worked out. This means that she hasn't forgotten him. This means that he has stayed on her mind. This means that she isn't afraid of him. Most importantly this means he has a chance, a good chance.

_She's as good as mine. _

His grin is cheeky, his hopes are high, and his ego is expanding. He will have his girl, and soon if he has any say. The day is looking up.

There is a noise in the hall so he throws himself back into the mirror over her bed and makes himself invisible. Someone is coming.

----////////////////////////////////////----

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: This chapter was the devil. Horns, tail, pitchfork, the works. If it isn't good I apologize, but I can only do so many re-writes. This was going to be chapter five. People were going to find things out (the characters involved, you the readers, possibly me). It was going to be out before 1/16/2007. It would not cooperate. I very nearly gave up. So what you have just read is the product of many re-writes, many stalls, and the invaluable advice of a few great authoresses (including my darling mother). Thank you all ladies.


	7. Again

**Pieces In A Pocket**

By Wee-Me

Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge

**DISCLAIMER: **He revolutionized Batman, he created Jack Skellington, he made Willy Wonka a little frightening. He is Tim Burton and he owns Beetlejuice and all the recognizable characters. I am Wee-Me, I am not Tim Burton, I do not own Beetlejuice- he has simply taken up residence in my brain.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The seventh chapter, what was originally going to be elsewhere. Another short one. Let's amp up the crazy people because Marshal is back. Thanks so mucho much to Mad-Hatter-LCarol and Llewlyn for reviewing the last chapter, it would have been very lonely without you. Thanks to anyone who reads.

Chapter Title: Again

Used Items: None

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**TEN MONTHS AGO**

Dear Lydia,

I hope you don't mind me addressing you so informally, but I feel as if I know you. Your craft reveals so much of your true self and I feel as if we are kindred souls.

I have joined your fan club since I last wrote and I have started posting regularly to your forum and discussion sections. If you ever look, I am "LydiaIzMyne". I think you would find my posts insightful (unlike some of those other poor fools).

I was rather disappointed that your response was not more personal. A postcard with your image upon it is indeed lovely and will be cherished, but I had hoped I made more of an impression on you. I suppose I feel that as your greatest fan I DESERVE more than two sentences and a signature.

_Marshal- Thank you for being a fan. I hope I can live up to your expectations. -Lydia Deetz_

I'm sure that you are a busy woman, but this was a SLAP in the face after I POURED my heart into my letter. I'm sure this time you can put some thought and consideration into your response. I feel I deserve at least that, I am your biggest fan after all.

In any case, I am anxiously awaiting your next novel. I hope Magda will finally come to her senses and take the wizard up on his proposition. He is obviously perfect for her, even if they have differing standards on morality. (It almost reminds me of my own current romantic endeavor, but then you know all about that don't you?)

Here's hoping that I hear from you soon.

LOVE, your biggest fan,

Marshal

PS: I had hoped to send this to your home address, but that information is surprisingly hard to find. You can send it to me next time.

.meht ees uoy wonk I

This letter sits on Lydia's desk in the flagged folder. All of the letters that are threatening or creepy go into this folder and the writers are added to a watch list by her management team. This watch list is in turn given to the security team so they may more fully protect her from the madness that seems drawn to her.

She almost feels bad for this poor man who is infatuated with her, but something about his letters sets off alarm bells in her mind. He is too focused on her and emotionally erratic; it makes her feel unsafe.

_Does he see ghosts? Or does he know Beetlejuice or something like him? I've never been so happy that Juno made it nearly impossible for"people" to find info about me. _

She feels reassured thinking of Juno so she puts the letters out of her mind and heads back to her studios to work in peace. It is a peace that will not last.

----//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////----

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: So my darling reader what do you think?


	8. Look With Your Eyes

**Pieces In A Pocket**

By Wee-Me

Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge

**DISCLAIMER: **Oh hello, nice to see you again. I know it has been a while but I still do not own Betel or his friends, they still belong to Tim Burton. The only person I own in this story is Marshal and he scares me (he lives in my brain and he touches my stuff, ewww!).

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the eighth chapter of my Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge, what originally was the seventh (with an -ish) and after this it should be back on track. Many thanks to Llewlyn, Doormouse, Mad-Hatter-LCarol, Yetipie, Sesshoumarusmisstress, Azmaria, Xandraghazia, and Jikei yo. You guys rock, and make me enjoy this story that much more. Hugs to you all. This chapter comes with a surprise that you'll see at the end. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Title: Look With Your Eyes . . . 

Used Items:

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In the Maitland/Deetz home someone is always yelling. Whether in joy, anger, frustration, or fading hearing it is always happening. Always. A lot of the time the subject is Lydia, such as this night. After bursting into her room, without permission, Barbara had raised the alarm and called an emergency family meeting. Standing shirtless in her room with the door left open Lydia could not help but wonder if she could sit this one out.

Apparently, since she found herself sitting in the living room listening to her family yell, she could not. She had snatched up her tank top, pressed into service because it ties at the neck and across the back to keep her bruises from being aggravated, and tied it on miserably. She had waited in her room for nearly five minutes before Barbara had come to drag her down into the fray.

Once downstairs she had been forced to stand with her back to the room so that a full examination of her back and arms could be done, as if the police, doctors, and her literary agent hadn't already done so ad nauseam. She gave the same explanation that she had given over the phone the night it happened and then waited for their commentary. Her pale skin, easily bruised to begin with, is a stark contrast to the purples, blacks, and reds of her bruises and cuts. Delia had been the first to speak, as is her way.

"How did you do this to yourself?"

"Well Delia, you know I thought to myself, hey you know what would be fun . . . "

The argument had been on from there and spiraled quickly out of control with Delia blaming her for what happened and the others trying to defend her without upsetting Delia. Lydia simply sat in stony silence and wished she were elsewhere.

"All I'm saying is that normal people don't attract this sort of attention. I'm your mother and I care for you, but you do attract weirdos. First it was that silly ghost, then that skirt wearing boy in high school, and now this freak. You don't see me attracting this sort of man, and . . . "

"First, I don't see you attracting **any **sort of man, and second you are **not **my mother. I cannot believe you are blaming **ME** for some crazy guy's actions. I'm not going to stop being who I am to please you, so stop trying to use this to turn me into the perfect daughter you always wanted. Now I'm going to bed."

She had stomped up the stairs but the voices still float up to her. Hours later Delia is still babbling in outrage about Lydia's disrespect and she is beginning to repeat herself.

"I was only telling the truth. If she would just act normal she wouldn't cause so much trouble. I'm not surprised this psycho attacked her, she practically asks for it."

Delia has been pushing this idea since Lydia left the room. What hurts the most is that the other three have offered only token protests, either they fear Delia more than they care to defend her or they at least partially agree.

_Either way it hurts. I wish Mom were here, she never thought I was a freak. Neither did he. Maybe I'll see if I can't move up that meeting with Juno, at least I feel more normal with her. Well, not normal, but at least less out of place. Why can't they just be on my side? Why can't they just say 'This man is awful and he deserves death for this' or something like that? _

It is late in the night now, dinner forgotten, and downstairs the party is finally breaking up and everyone is heading to bed. Lydia is sprawled upon her bed with only the lamp within the dress to chase away the shadows in her room. She used to be more at ease in the dark, not that she is exactly frightened now, but that was before it betrayed her and cloaked a monster bent on stalking and harming her.

_He came out of nowhere. One minute I'm passing that tacky, shiny wall (was that supposed to be onyx?) and the next . . . There he was standing over my security guard. Poor Ben, I should see if he's going to be getting out of the hospital any time soon. _

She has tried not to think about that night, only two days ago now, but it comes back to her every time she tries to sleep. She repeated her account of the attack a dozen or more times that night alone. She told cops, her handlers, her manager, her agent, security, and later Juno by phone.

_EVP phone calls make my brain hurt. _

All of them, save Juno, believed that pain and shock accounted for the oddities in her story. Juno seemed to think something bigger was at play though she would not enlighten Lydia as to what that might be. She had listened thoughtfully and without interruption, asked a few questions, and then hurriedly got off the phone with promises that they would do lunch soon. Keeping Lydia in the dark seems to be the ghost's new hobby, and whatever has sealed her lips makes Lydia all the more nervous. She just wants Juno to poof the trouble away and make everything okay again. Being an adult is such a pain, especially when overbearing parental figures and the supernatural are involved.

_And speak of the devil, here comes one of the parentals now likely on a mission to overbear and conquer. Ha ha. Oh man I need to go to sleep. Ugh, I'm not turning over, I might start throwing things. _

"Pumpkin, you asleep?"

"No Dad, I'm not. But don't worry I'm sure you've all come up with a crackerjack plan to keep my danger magnetism in check so we can all sleep tonight. Kudos to you all, we might live through the night because you've all talked my life into the ground."

Charles moves around her door to drop tiredly on the edge of her bed talking to her back and dragging his hand over his face.

"Lydia it's 2:00 A.M. and your mother and I are leaving here in a few hours for vacation, so I'm really not up to that level of sarcasm right now. I'm sorry if your feelings got hurt, but I am completely out of my league here. I'm your father, all I want to do, all I'm supposed to do, is keep you safe and I'm failing spectacularly."

Lydia sits up to lean against her father and they both fight tears.

"Dad, no. You . . . "

"No, let me speak. I can't keep you safe anymore. When you were a little girl all, I had to do was check under the bed and throw myself between you and any clowns we came across and I felt like I was doing an okay job. Your Mom was home so much more and did all the rest, and with her gone most of the job of protecting you fell to you when I should have been handling it. Now you've got fame, ghosts, critics, and stalkers that I can't save you from. I know you have to live your life, but all I want is to lock you up somewhere you never have to be around anything more dangerous than a head of lettuce."

Lydia giggles tearily as the image of him checking her possessions against a head of lettuce to make sure she's safe comes through her mind.

"I love to see you smile sweetheart. You remind me so much of your Mom. Maybe if she were here she'd know what to do, or what to say. I'm sorry I fell down on the job, she did so much and I never picked the slack up after she passed. I feel like I let you both down."

He sighs and rubs his hand down his face again looking older now than he ever has before.

"Dad, you did your best and that's all Mom would have asked of you. And as for me, I'm fine. Don't worry, I'm home now and I'm fine. The bruises will fade and the cops will catch him. Plus Juno is on the look out so it should be fine. Now go get some sleep so that you can go off for a relaxing trip with Delia."

Even to comfort her father Lydia cannot make herself say that everything will go right because she knows better than to jinx herself.

_Just keep pretending everything is fine and maybe it will be. Why did he have to bring up Mom? At least he seems comforted. _

"Okay princess, but if you change your mind Delia and I, or just I can stay."

"Nope. I have security and I have Barbara and Adam, I'll be fine. You are going and you're going to like it. End of discussion."

Charles kisses her forehead, then moves to the door.

"G'night pumpkin."

"Good night Dad."

She listens as he heads down the stairs and then leans back again to think. Her thoughts tumble from her stalker, to her mother, to ghosts, and finally to Beetlejuice just before she succumbs to sleep.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: The surprise here is that this is not the end of chapter 8. Surprise! Okay, before you come at me with weapons (Llewlyn, I see that stick) let me explain. This chapter had so much info to cover that it grew to enormous size and tried to attack Tokyo, so I had to divide it. To make up for that (please don't hurt me) I am letting you decide what comes next. Your options are: Marshal chapter or the rest of chapter 8 next. You'll be getting both soon enough, but I'll let you pick the order. You can let me know which you choose in a review. Thanks for reading, see you next time.


	9. Not With Your Hands

**Pieces In A Pocket**

By Wee-Me

Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge

**DISCLAIMER: **If I owned Betel, oh the things I could do. _-insert evil laugh here-_ But alas, he belongs to Tim Burton who is not me. _-sigh- _It's sad, but that's how it is kids.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: And here is the rest of chapter 8, it has received the most votes (the only two who voted, and Llew's vote for all Betel all the time doesn't count). Chapter 9 will be up soon and it's about everyone's favorite creepy stalker of my own creation. Thanks to everyone who read and thanks to Lydia Sparrow, Xandraghazia, Llewlyn, Jikei yo, and Doormouse for reviewing. _-in a creepy Vincent Price-y voice- You've come this far, won't you come a little further? Then please read on, and enjoy. Muhahaha. _

Chapter Title: ...Not With Your Hands

Used Items: # 30. Diary

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In the morning Lydia rises early to see her parents off with a plan in mind to crawl right back into bed as soon as they are gone. The night has been a rough one with little rest and much frantic tossing and turning. Charles gives her hugs and absent kisses, while Delia blows kisses and tells her to fix her hair.

_I'm not even out of my PJs, I'm not doing my stupid hair. As long as it isn't on fire I don't care what it's doing. Just go already! I love you, but GO! _

After a lot of hemming and hawing, repeating of instructions, and Lydia's sleepy agreements, they finally head out for the vacation that they "need" to de-stress from all the nothing that they do. Sometimes they make her head hurt, actually that is probably all of the time. As they drive past security she grabs the paper off the front porch and then heads to the kitchen so she can have breakfast by the bed when she wakes up again.

She hears a disturbing hissing pop followed by footsteps on her landing and the temperature throughout the house drops. The lack of sleep she has had since the attack and the very little sleep she had during the book tour have addled her brain a bit so she assumes that this is Maitland related and resumes her search for breakfast.

_I wish I'd brought my robe down with me. Brr._

As she opens the fridge to grab a juice she spots a sticky note with her name on it written in Delia's chicken scratch. It says that Juno will be dropping by at 2:00 P.M. for lunch, have fun.

_What a ditz. She couldn't have mentioned this? C'mon you know she means well. Most of the time. At least I have something to look forward to now. _

Plucking up her paper, juice, and muffin she heads upstairs. As her foot hits the second stair the energy changes again to that less sinister feel from last night though she hears scrambling footsteps on her landing. The furtive sound of them followed quickly by that hissing pop from before is beginning to wake her up and nag at something at the back of her mind just beyond the cloud of sleep deprivation. As she rounds the stairs feeling the first tendrils of panic in her stomach, she sees a dark blur on the hall mirror on the right, but she tries to pass it off as paranoia and her own reflection. If she gives into the fear now she may never come back to herself.

_Calm it down Lydia, you are a big girl and you can stay alone without freaking out. You have a ton of security and Barbara and Adam are just a shout away. Marshal is human. He can't get you without passing through the security line outside. _

She feels eyes from the second hall mirror and they follow her to another mirror in her room. She can almost feel this person's emotions through their gaze. This isn't the first time she's felt eyes from the mirror and Juno said that it was mostly safe as long as she doesn't feel threatened. She can't say that she feels threatened really, more like unsettled as the gaze slides up and down from her face to her toes. She can't even explain how she knows where this spirit is looking, but it lands on her as heavy as a hand.

This feels more like a visual caress, as if this entity is just longing for a chance to replace watching with possessive touches. She giggles nervously as she places her burden down on her night stand as a memory flits through her mind.

'_Look with your eyes baby, not with your hands.' How many tines did Mom say that to me? Apparently no one told this ghost about that. It's not the ghost I want anyway. _

As she turns her back on the mirror to push aside the curtains she notices something on her pillow and has to put a knee up on the edge of her bed to reach it. As the gaze sweeps over her exposed back a wave of palpable rage rushes over her and makes her tip over onto her bed. She whirls around to warily face the mirror she feels it coming from and there is a minor standoff before there is that same smoochy (less creepy) pop from her first night home and then the entity is gone.

_O-o-o-kay, so I'm not going back to sleep now. What the heck was that? Never mind, never mind, I don't want to know. Let's just see what's on the pillow. I really hope this isn't anything bad, I don't think anything bad could get through. Juno would kill me if I died. I'm glad she's coming today. I have so much to ask now. _

She sighs deeply before turning back to the bed and the little bundle she dropped. She isn't really surprised to find a present on her pillow, trinkets have been arriving around her all her life. Exotic flowers she had never heard of, baubles and beads for a girl child to play with, little hand carved figurines, and the like have been turning up now and again her whole life. Her Mom had always said that she was just a very lucky little girl and should say thank you when she found her blessings. Muttering a quiet thanks she pulls the laces from the cloth and peels the bundle open. She sets the note to the side for the moment (she hasn't had good luck with those lately) and studies the contents.

_Someone was listening about the collage apparently. Stupid mirrors, now I'm going to have to start dressing in the hall closet. _

The linen is filled with keys, dozens of mixed sized keys, and she picks up each one to examine it up close. Once all the keys are moved away to her pillow she finds even better treasure. The first treasure is a silver hat pin with a dazzling ruby-red crystal at the top. She holds it up to the weak morning light that trickles into her room, letting it dazzle her eyes and make patterns across her walls.

_Must fix the curtains, light doesn't belong in here. Well maybe when I'm working and sometimes not even then. Oh my, if these aren't antiques they are the best replicas I've ever seen. _

She sets the pin aside to pick up the other bit of shine remaining in the linen. The locket is a heavy silver darkened with age on a fragile chain that seems as delicate as spider silk. She holds the chain to her neck and the oval lands below the end of her sternum. The locket itself is half as large as her palm and covered in engravings that look like ivy vines done in excruciating detail. Inside are what she can only assume to be two sweethearts from a much earlier time etched forever in black and white.

The woman, on the left, is wearing a serene expression and a large hat stuck with what appears to be Lydia's "new" hatpin. Facing this young woman is the image of an equally young soldier dudded up in his uniform and grinning like mad. They are both blond and fine featured, a perfect match and an adorable couple.

_Shoot, now I'm all curious. And a little bit jealous. _

She clasps the locket closed once more and nestles it down by her keys upon her pillow before turning to the linen it was all wrapped in. The thick wad she had assumed was some sort of batting or bandages falls open into a shirt.

"Beautiful. And old. Hmm."

The shirt is a soft linen made for a man and brings to mind the covers of a dozen or more trashy historical romance novels. Drawing it closer she can almost imagine it full of strong arms and hard chest, and she feels ridiculous for it. Pressing her face to the front and inhaling she smells mostly old smoke and man, but also something else underneath. The scent is like the soft light of moonlight and candles somehow, or of rich laughter, or of kisses in the dark, or perhaps all of them mixed together and then some. It is hard to define and yet perfectly familiar to her. It is of course the smell of magic.

She drapes the shirt gently across her lap before finally picking up the letter. The front just has her name, fairly harmless stuff, so she flips it over and carefully pops the green wax seal so that it doesn't break. She idly notes that the wax is imprinted with a pretty shooting star design. With a deep breath for calm she opens the letter and feels spiritual essence shimmer over her hands. The feeling is unmistakably **him **and she reads his words with her heart in her throat.

Lydia,

Hey babes, didja miss me? Okay so that's probably a no, but I m—. Well, I'm back anyways.

As you've no doubt guessed, this is The Ghost With The Most. And before you can call down any trouble on my head let me say that this isn't a trick. Really.

I'm not going to ask you to get me out (if you want to though . . . ) and I'm not after revenge. (If I were after revenge would I have given you stuff? I think not. I'm more of a rain doom upon your head kind of guy if I'm after you. And if I were trying to charm you I wouldn't be telling you all this.)

I'll admit that I was upset when I left, but I guess I can't hold it against you. Well I could but I'm not gonna. Mostly I just want to talk, if you're willing, and check in on you now and again. For now though just enjoy the gifts. I hope you like all of it. Be seeing you soon. 

–Yours– 

B.

At the top of the page the words 'Private Diary of Elias Cobb Esquire' have been marked out. Scrawled beside it reads 'Liked the paper and Cobb was a terrible writer. Did him a favor by stealing it'. She re-reads it twice as her stomach flips itself like a coin, heads joy and tails terror, before landing in between at extreme confusion. The idea of him stealing this poor man's diary because he wasn't that great of a writer makes her want to smile, but she can't get past the fear.

_This _is _what I've been wanting, so why am I so freaked? It could be a trick. But what if it isn't? Gah! I need Juno. _

She looks at the clock and finds that it isn't even 9:00 A.M. yet and she will not be getting back to sleep this morning, if ever.

_All I wanted was to sleep in. Why do these things always happen when I want sleep? Might as well get a jump on the day then. _

She pushes open the curtains to let the sunlight in and waves to one of the security guards that are posted all around the house when he looks up. He salutes her and then goes back to his watch.

_So this is my life now. Deep sigh. No, I'm not going to get like this. I'm going to be optimistic. I'm sure Juno or the police can catch him and then all I have to worry about are ghosts. Oh man do I suck at self-soothing. _

With a frustrated sigh she paces her room a few moments before her eyes land on the gifts on her pillow.

_Hmm, decorating should eat up some time and he did say to enjoy. Plus it would be rude to not use such lovely pieces. I'm so happy Juno is coming, if she doesn't kill me for opening his gift then maybe she'll have some advice. Now let's get this show on the road. _

A goal in mind she drifts around scouting spots for keys with a critical eye. It is going to be a long day. Then her eyes drift from the suspended dress to the shirt on the bed and she grins.

_Oh yeah, Juno definitely won't like this. _

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AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: I'd like to say, before anyone else can say it, that BJ is not being out of character in his note. He is being diplomatic so that he doesn't scare her off before he can get things going. Marshal is up next and then I should be getting back to Betel.


	10. Mother May I

**Pieces In A Pocket**

By Wee-Me

Beetlejuice 100 Kisses Challenge

**DISCLAIMER: **I am a college student, a stick of gum or a strong breeze could send me spiraling into debt, so of course I don't own Betel and co. All of these wonderful imaginary people (excepting Marshal and his family, they belong to me _-shudder-_) belong to Tim Burton.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the tenth chapter of my madness. Yes, more madness. Kick up the creepy fu. _-winks to Llew- _Very long wait I know, the computer I had before died (the funeral will be soon) and then I could not find a way that would upload the blasted thing _–sigh-_. Thanks to PIRATEical ELF of Mirkwood, Mad-Hatter-LCarol, Xandraghazia, Doormouse, WitchyWanda, Llewlyn, and Ninnik Nishukan for reviewing. I love reviews, they make me smile and giggle and the men in white coats increase my dosage. Please enjoy.

Chapter Title: Mother May I

Used Items: (I used a lot of soap when I washed my hands a hundred times after writing this, but I don't think that counts from the list.)

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**EIGHT MONTHS AGO**

The situation has gone too far and he will not stand for it. His woman is resisting his advances and it simply will not do. He expressed himself to her in a way he is certain women like, Mother even told him so, so the fault must be with Lydia for not responding.

_Or perhaps her advisors are to blame. Perhaps they are trying to keep us apart. How dare they?!? Mother warned me that there would be betrayers and enemies on my path to greatness. Like Father was to Mother, getting in her way and doubting. They wish to make me doubt my Beloved and myself. _

The blame moved from his darling and on to some nameless, faceless other Marshal feels much better about things. A nervous tic causes the space around his left eye to flutter and twitch, but he does not notice. His eyes glaze over and his breath catches as he thinks of Lydia. He is certain now that she will be his and delighted at the honor.

_Mother says it is an honor and she would know. She knows everything. _

Speaking of Mother, he must go tend her soon, and to Father. (Ever the betrayer Father must be bound regularly or he attempts to leave his cellar grave.) But first he must mail his newest letter to Lydia, expressing his love and devotion and hope that she receives it.

_They can't keep us apart forever my love, soon we will be joined Forever. _

He kisses the sealed envelope for a long moment before heading downstairs and out the door to mail it. He must pull up the hood of his jacket and don gloves before he can venture out into the sunlight and down the mile long driveway to his mailbox. His skin itches, even through two layers of clothing, as the bright sun washes over him. His sensitivity to the light is a product of having spent more than three quarters of his life indoors with the blinds drawn. Only for Lydia or Mother would he suffer like this.

_How lucky they are to have my devotion and how lucky I am to devote myself to them. I can't wait to see Lydia show me the same. It is no more than I deserve and I will accept no less. _

His eye tics again as he stands just inside the door waiting for his eyes to readjust to the darkness while his pinkened skin cools down. He can hear clanking and thumping from the cellar, Mother is doing her Great Work. He is proud to be her son and to serve her faithfully. He will someday inherit her power and have his own Great Works and so is happy to serve as Mother's assistant as she teaches him The Way. A particularly loud thump followed by cursing lets him know he's had enough free time for now, Mother needs his time more. He grins and heads downstairs.

_I can't wait to hear from Lydia. _

///---///---///

A week later Lydia has received a copy of his letter and she is, as she describes it, 'beyond icked out'. Her handlers are beginning to think that maybe this guy is not harmless-crazy, maybe he's crazy-crazy.

_My first creep of my career, related to my career at least. Joy. _

The handlers, her manager, and all other involved parties have decided that maybe this man needs warning off. It will be a careful warning so that it doesn't seem as if Lydia is frightened or repulsed, the last thing they want is this man to lash out at her for rejecting him. This newest letter is the most disturbing to her so far and she just wants them to stop.

_Maybe this is a sign. Maybe this means I'm not meant to have a normal relationship. No romance for Lydia L. Deetz. Maybe Fate is trying to tell me that only creeps and crazies are attracted to me. Well, and dead guys, but… Never mind that. I get the message, so why does it keep getting hammered in? Ugh. What is wrong with this guy? _

She drops the letter back on to her desk and reaches for her hand sanitizer. Even if he hasn't ever touched this copy she still feels dirty having had it in her hands. She can only hope that her people can take care of this guy and then everything will go back to normal.

_What are the odds? _

-Darling-

I haven't heard from you in so long. Have you not been receiving my letters? I **know **you must have seen my online posts. You mustn't ignore your biggest fan, little miss, bad things happen to authors who ignore their fans. 

I mean in their careers of course. I would never let anyone hurt you. You are so precious to me, I've found myself falling in love with you. (Even though I've written you at least TWELVE times and I've only received a few piddling replies on those silly little cards)

You can make it up to me, I'll let you decide how you want to do so. (Perhaps your home address or phone number could make their way to me.) I do so long to speak to you personally and see your beautiful face up close and GLAD to see me. 

I know this might be the tiniest bit fast, but I love you desperately. I'm SURE you feel the same. THEY won't be able to keep you from me much longer dear. I'll find a way to you if is the last thing I do. 

I love you to pieces, 

Yours (as you are MINE),

Marshal 

///-----///-----///-----///

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: Eww. Eww. Eww. Must wash hands. Hope you liked it.


	11. Story Time

**Pieces In A Pocket**

By Wee-Me

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of the people involved with Betelgeuse (AKA Beetlejuice) they belong to Mr. Burton and various companies. I am making no money from this and it keeps me up at night, I need pity not a lawsuit. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Tenth chapter of my ramblings (technically the eleventh) and it is Betel's turn to talk. There is a mild swearing warning here, Betel got cranky on me. Please enjoy and review. 

Chapter Title: Story Time 

Used Items: None that I'm aware of 

/---\\\

Someone will pay. Dearly. The trouble and fear he has caused before will look tame after he wreaks his vengeance on whoever hurt his woman. Alive and dead, he may have done some awful things, but hurting a woman isn't one of them. Even when he sent that annoying Maitland chick to Saturn he made sure she didn't get eaten by a sandworm (although he sometimes thinks it would have been better if he had). 

_Sandworms, there's an idea. Set him out and let them get the little bastard. Naw, too quick and then I couldn't get my hands on him. _

It occurs to the distant part of his brain that still uses logic that he may have frightened Lydia and he might be frightening Juno now as he bellows for her again, but those are distant thoughts he can't hear over his own thrumming rage. And the logical side is no longer in control, or rather, is in less control than usual. He'd been overcome by love and a quick punch of lust when she'd entered her room half-dressed (you have to love the times, back in his day you were lucky to see an ankle even after marriage), but it was quickly tempered. Her poor beautiful skin was bruised and abraded all over her back, but that could be chalked up to an accident, breathers are forever having accidents that rush them through Death's shadow. He'd had a flash of panic wondering what he would do if she passed out of his reach and he never got to be with her. Then he saw the hand prints, the places on her arms when someone held her hard enough to leave deep black marks, and fury blotted out everything else in his mind (even his grand romantic plans). 

He is only now vaguely conscious of how frightened Lydia looked, how aware of him she was as she half-sprawled on her bed, just before he threw himself back to his home and started yelling. The logical side of him decides now is the time to pipe up and work out what has gone awry here. 

_Shit! Another plan gone all ta hell. Hey, maybe the present will work and it isn't all lost. Now I just gotta convince Juno to gimme my girl and let me kill someone. Easy. And maybe I'll get a pulse and star on Broadway. Crap. _

"Juno! C'mon Juno, we need to talk! It's important damn it!" 

Juno stands in the next room, if you can call it that anymore, and listens to Betel yell. The rage her former assistant is pouring off in waves is warping his environment. The house around her is having a hard time remembering what it is supposed to be as the power pulses through, nearly bowling her over in its wake. The laws of physics aren't holding up very well she decides as she watches the walls heave and the floors tilt, it's almost like someone opened a black hole in his home and she wonders, not for the first time, at the power he possesses. She pushes aside the questions that always come to her about his restraint in other situations, what he is truly capable of, and the sheer wonder at the spectacle. 

She had arrived before the higher ups even had a chance to send her a memo. She felt a strange feeling of dread and headed out to the only being (well, non-living being) she cares enough about to have that strong a reaction to. She knew it was more than just a prank when she got near the area where he "lives" and saw his home quaking with energy and pulsing in and out like a beating heart. Everything within the surrounding area was being pulled toward the place like flotsam in a whirlpool. 

_Ugh, the complaints from the neighbors are going to miserable. I need a cigarette, a drink, and a vacation. _

Beside her a chair loses its fight for existence and with a little sigh it turns to pure energy to swirl with the restless power in the room. The whole house is alive with Betelgeuse's displeasure and she can feel it practically seething in tune with its owner. Oddly her mind hearkens back to some cartoon she watched with Lydia, it was something about Jedis feeling the effect of some event. 

_Well if there were such things I imagine this would count as a "disturbance in the force". No use waiting to see if he'll calm down I suppose. I'll smoke later. Hmm, he may be a drama queen, but the green is pretty, matches his eyes. _

"You bellowed, Betel?"

The rest of her comments dry up at the sight of him. He has lost all pretense of humanity and would give even ghouls a fright with his sharpened features and predatory gaze. What gives her pause, more than the subtle danger of his tiger like manner, is the fear and pain in his eyes.

"Hurt."

It is more than a whisper, but only in tone and she's lucky he likes her. Words have power and a word like hurt could turn into a command if he had less control or if she meant less to him. It is a tribute to his power that even during a breakdown of this proportion he can still protect his loved ones from harm. But right now what matters is that he's hurting and she can leave her musings for another time. 

"I know you do, but I can't help you if you don't calm down. Take some deep breaths then tell me what's got you so upset." 

She is fairly sure of what is bothering him and certain he doesn't need the air she has him gulping, but speaking to him as if he is a skittish child seems to be working in her favor. He is upset enough to have lost control, a control he takes pride in as much as the power itself, and lost hold on his form; so a little TLC on her part is in order. He heaves out another deep shuddery breath and nods to Juno that he's better, though the air around them is still swirling and his form is still off. 

"Now would you like to explain to me what's going on? It will make you feel better and it will let me keep my appointment." 

She can tell he's coming around when he half smirks at her. 

"So I'm not the most important thing on your plate today? Bet if I broke through The Wall I would be." 

His eyes are feral again as he refocuses on his reason for calling her while hers are wide at the implication of his statement- could he? 

"You have to let me out, she **needs** me." 

"Who?"

"You know damn well who. The girl, my girl, Lydia! She's the only girl I've ever tried to marry, you might have noticed, and I plan to make it down the aisle with her someday. Now somebody hurt her! She could have died!" 

Another time when this is all over she will have a good laugh at his panicked tone and expression, but for now it is too much like looking in a mirror for her to find any humor in it. 

"I'm fully aware of the situation, I talked to her not long after it happened. What makes you think your presence would be helpful or welcome?" 

For a moment he seems lost and a bit betrayed by her harsh question (feels like a jab to the chest), but she needs to know what's going on in that head of his. 

"Some breather roughed her up, put marks on her, and you're worried about what I'm gonna do? I've done a lotta 'bad' stuff, but I wouldn't hurt a woman or let one get hurt and you know it. Or do you think less of me than I thought? Never mind. So I'm gonna keep her safe is what I'm plannin' Junebug and come Hell, high-water, or hailstones that's what's gonna happen. I'll get the little bastard who hurt her and then I'm gonna kill 'im or make 'im do it hisself. Couldn't be more than a few days ago, imprint of him should still be on her right? Then I'm taking my girl and I'm not letting her out of my sight. Problem solved. End of story." 

_Put some thought into this have you Betel? I've underestimated him again; he's smarter than he acts. Now he wants to play detective, all he needs is a deerstalker and a pipe. Oh why am I friends with this man? _

"Hmm. By imprint you mean essence? Left on her from their contact."

He nods.

"How do you know it hasn't been longer? And how do you know it's a 'breather'?" 

He levels an 'are you dense?' look at her. 

"Junebug, I know bruises and I know spirits. Those marks were fresh. An' a ghost wouldn't leave handprints like that, not unless it was more like me and then it'd probably just kill her and not leave a witness or waste a bunch of time trying to keep it secret from you people. Unless torture was the plan, or somethin' worse. Not all 'geists have my fine moral compass." 

She isn't sure which disturbs her more: his intimate knowledge of bruises (which is first hand from his own living body if the haunted look in his eyes is anything to go by) or the fact that most of his type of ghost would kill for efficiency's sake. That's just another of those things she'll push aside until later; much, much later.

She gives his arm a quick squeeze of affection, then reaches for a cigarette and looks around. The room is still aglow with his energy but is no longer pulsating and pumping like a heart. Good enough for now. She heads to the window to blow smoke and tap ashes there; it's a habit she developed at Lydia's because Charles and Delia dislike the smell. 

"So you want to help Ly…the Deetz girl. Do you know why?" 

He looks at her like she is a child that has just learned the word 'why' and delights in its use. It's his turn to sigh and wonder about their friendship. Joining her at the window he has grace enough to be embarrassed when he sees the destruction his upset has caused. With a flick of his hand everything is in a reasonable semblance of order. He turns to apologize sheepishly, but Juno waves it off as if she isn't the one who has been busting him on his behavior for years. 

"Why're you bein' so nice to me? Startin' to creep me out here Junebug." 

What might be a smirk flashes over her face at his suspicious tone and expression, but she battles it down. 

"I'm your friend Betel. You know 'friend', person who cares for you even though you're a twit. I'm your friend and you are hurting so I'm here for you. This is what friendship is supposed to look like. Now, back to the Deetz girl, explain your interest." 

It never ceases to amaze him how she can be his friend Junebug one second and Juno the caseworker in the next breath. 

"Aww, J you're prob'ly the only real friend I ever had so cut me some slack. This is not my area of expertise, possibly the only area I don't know it all. An' I told you: Lydia's mine. I want her, need her. So let me help." 

"So she's important to you." 

"Yes, **yes**, how is this so hard for you to understand? You're one of the smartest people I know." 

"Don't use that tone with me, I'm your friend but that won't stop me from slapping you. Now do you know why?" 

"Why what? Why you're threatening me? Yes, you lack a sense of humor. Why we're having this conversation? No. Why you delight in tormenting me? No. Why…"

"Ugh, hopeless. Do you know why she's important to you? Nitwit." 

"Well, I…she…we…"

"Your grasp of pronouns is excellent. Now answer." 

The glare he has should set her on fire.

"No, I don't know."

She nods, more to herself than him, and draws two file folders out of her pocket- Betel isn't the only one with that particular trick. 

"I do. Sit down, it's time I told you a little story." 

/---\\\

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: Bwahahaha! A new chappie and yet another cliffie, and you people thought you wanted to see more of me. Marshal next chapter. If you would be so kind, please review and (or) visit my profile for a poll question concerning this story. Thanks for reading. 

Cross-posting to ffdotnet and LJ. 


	12. Great Work

**Pieces In A Pocket**

Authoress: Wee-Me

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Betelgeuse or any of his friends. I do own Marshal and his family, even though it doesn't enthuse me.

Chapter Title: Great Work

Used Items: None

_6 MONTHS AGO_

Someone will pay! Those silly men have been to his home three times in the last two months to try to keep him from his love. This last time the brutes upset Mother, and that simply was not acceptable. He carefully gathered their names down upon his list of Those That Will Pay and will give their business cards to Mother. Mother will surely think of something creative as a surprise for those horrible beasts, a small taste of what is to come.

He is worried for poor gentle Lydia, trapped by these men and longing for him. He can just imagine the look on her face when he comes to her rescue. Mother says that Lydia is like most women- delicate and in need of protection. Mother is an exception, of course, since she could not count on Father she had to do all her rescuing herself. Marshal sometimes thinks he remembers Father being a happy, kind man, but Mother says he was sly, weak, and a betrayer so it couldn't be true. He would never do that to Lydia and once Mother is done training him no one will even consider testing his patience.

Once Mother passes the duty of the Great Work to him, once she finally lets him know what they've been working toward, he will be a king. Lydia will be his faithful queen and never out of his sight. Mother will…well, she'll do as she pleases. Marshal's face flutters and twitches as he imagines the life he and his bride will enjoy together. He rouses himself from his fantasy when he hears Mother slamming things around down in her cellar workspace.

Sometimes he wonders if Mother having her worktable over Father's grave is a romantic gesture of Mother wanting to be close to her husband. Then he remembers that it's best not to think of Father at all, Mother always knows and it upsets her. It is in his best interest to keep her from becoming upset. To clear his mind he plays a little word game (he doesn't focus on Father teaching it to him) and changes one letter at a time to make a new one. It takes him five changes to make mother into hatred, he doesn't stop to consider why those would occur to him. He heads downstairs to tell Mother about the thugs before she breaks something.

/---\

Hours later in his room Marshal finishes his letter and puts it into its envelope along with a couple of little surprises. He would love to kiss this letter like he has all the others, but his busted lip is still bleeding freely from Mother's upset. He doesn't know if his mind wasn't clear enough or if it was just stress, but Mother's temper got the best of her when he told her about the men warning him away from Lydia. He knows she didn't mean to hurt him or any of the harsh things she said. She is just temperamental and worries about their work being discovered. She also worries about his happiness; she wants him to have Lydia almost as much as he does. She's always agreeing how perfect Lydia is and what a great addition she'll make to their home.

He decides to kiss the letter anyway, Lydia surely won't mind a little bit of him being on the letter. He leaves a sloppy red kiss on the letter and then settles into bed to dream of his future.

Down in the cellar someone else is thinking of the future as well.

End Great Work

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the long wait for this one. This is the first half of chapter 11 of my ramblings and because of the long wait I will be posting the second half now. Now I'm going to go bleach my brain.

THANKS ARE OWED TO: Shelly and Llewlyn of course, Kawaii Usagi Chan San, Luna the sheikah, anon, Some Random Reader, Grim Bonez, Aurian Lladnek, YourAngelStandingBy, Dark Roswellian Angel, Steph-Schell, arkynox, and Eddi Delaney. Thanks for reviewing the last chapter guys.


	13. Panic And Dread Or Bed?

**Pieces In A Pocket**

Authoress: Wee-Me

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Betelgeuse or any of his friends. I do own Marshal and his family, even though it doesn't enthuse me.

Chapter Title: Panic and Dread or Bed?

Used Items: None

_6 MONTHS AGO_

A few days after Marshal mails his letter Lydia Deetz is in a quandary- panic and flail or go back to bed and not leave until it's all sorted out? Perhaps both? Is drinking at nine in the morning a bad thing? If Juno glares any harder will she bore holes into her, Lydia's, face?

_Wait, when did Juno get back? _

"Hey, Juno. What's up? I wasn't expecting you back for a few weeks."

Pushing the bottle of Jack behind her Lydia sits up from where she is leaning against her bed in the floor. She had started drinking last night, slept for several hours, and then picked it back up around an hour ago when her attorneys and handlers called to make an appointment in this newest episode of her current nightmare.

"You've been drinking since I called you last night, haven't you?"

"What, me? Nooo. Of course not."

In fact that call was exactly what had set off this little binge, but something about Juno makes her want to hide all transgressions and look like a good girl.

"Liar. Oh Lydia, what am I going to do with you?"

Her tone isn't accusing, just worried in her own stern Juno-y way. It makes tears well up in her eyes that someone cares enough to worry about her and lecture her (without blaming her and hurting her feelings). The last time anyone did this, cared for her so consistently without hurting her, it was her mother. Her father has never managed to be consistent about his interest in her and Delia has no idea what to do with her. The Maitlands aren't really equipped to deal with her fame and the danger it has brought. Mostly the others in the house have ignored the problem. Charles and Delia are off at an art show in the Southwest while Barbara and Adam are hiding out for a romantic weekend in the model. After the call last night from Juno and the fact that she's visiting today Lydia knows that none of them will be able to ignore it much longer.

"Juno, what am I going to do?" _That isn't my voice is it? I haven't sounded like that since before Mom died. _

Juno kneels down beside Lydia and pulls her to her chest over her unbeating heart. Lydia takes it as an invitation and wraps her arms around the older woman.

"I'm scared Juno."

"I know kid, I know. You trust me right?" Juno tips Lydia's face up so she can look into her eyes.

"You know I do."

"Well then let me do my job. And quit drinking for goodness sake! Now let's get out of the floor and talk."

A quick command to sober up from Juno actually takes away Lydia's remaining buzz. The only benefit is that she's less woozy when they rise and head down to the kitchen for a chat at the kitchen's island counter like they have many times before. This time the topic is not so light as the many fun ways they could ruin Delia's day.

"Coffee?"

"No, but I will smoke. Now, as I told you last night, your stalker has sent another letter so obviously your attorneys' little chats didn't work. What I didn't tell you is that he included a certain item that drew my attention before it even made it to your mail center. Our side intercepted the letter, removed the item, and returned it to the inbox.

"If at all possible we want to leave evidence enough for this side to deal with him."

"Juno, quit the cloak and dagger stuff. You are enjoying this far too much."

"Kiddo, I'm not enjoying this, I just don't want to worry you before you have all the facts. Your staff should be getting you a copy of the letter and all that crap you can read for yourself later. Other than his sick fantasies, which I suggest you ignore- just get a summary and save yourself some mental damage, and a picture of himself…"

"_Please _tell me it isn't a naked picture."

"No, he's wearing a cape or ceremonial robes or some such. But more importantly he sent you a ring and it had a tracer on it. A tracer that felt like ghost energy on it no less."

Juno takes a drag and waits for Lydia to speak, which she will if her gasping fish impression is anything to go by.

"But… He… Alive? Juno, I thought you said he was alive. You said he wasn't another Betel-mmmph."

Juno slaps a hand over her mouth before she can finish and then thumps her forehead.

"He isn't another Betel, there aren't any that come close to being like him as far as I know. You need to be careful of that name or there will be a whole 'nother pile of complications on your head. The difference is that B has his own magic and this M…stalker of yours just has access to someone else's. That's why my side hasn't been able to pay him a visit even though he's clearly human by the trace he's left. Someone is shielding him from the Netherworld authorities and trying to find you. This has just moved into a whole new realm of dangerous. If this isn't resolved soon we may have to call in reserves."

Juno didn't want to scare Lydia, but it is her job to protect her – she had made a promise after all.

/---\

A few hours later when she finds her calm and Juno leaves for her actual work a small army of attorneys, managers, and security types descend upon her home. They show her pictures of the letter, his photo, and the blood smeared envelope with the sick parody of a lipstick kiss. When she gets to the message of the letter instead of looking at the poorly drawn pictures of them together in the margins she realizes Juno is right about skipping it. Below his usual mixture of declarations of love and barely veiled threats is a description of his wedding night fantasies which are disturbing and in some cases not anatomically possible. Her attorneys sugar coat it for her so the 'delicate artist' she is remains undisturbed. They express confusion over his repeated references to an heirloom ring they cannot find and have a good chuckle over his mirror written rants about ghosts.

Lydia laughs along with them though she calls them fools in her head, but pays special attention to that section. She tries not to wince at how freely they use his name or how much they dismiss the supernatural, they haven't lived in the midst of the weird like she has and don't understand how much power names and ideas can have. Not soon enough they stop droning and the suits leave her to go hire more security. The security people she has go outside to begin setting up watch positions and where the perimeter will be set up. At least they'll be out of her hair.

_Why is it that men in suits all look so similar? I'd swear they were all the same guy and they're just over-billing me if they didn't travel in herds. _

She looks back to his picture and the faint corona around him- this outline of glowing light is a mark of someone long exposed to ghosts or other supernatural elements. The glowing aura shows up in photos, often in mirrors, and sometimes out of the corners of eyes. Lydia knows this because she has it herself. Lydia's own 'halo' is a pale color in the spectrum of white lights, though sometimes tinged with green, and mostly she can work around it. She handles most of the photos they release and has learned to make it look as if she has overly dramatic back lighting. Apparently Marshal, who's light is somehow dark and dingy, has recognized her glow for what it is. Which explains some of the fixation, it's hard to find another human that glows so brightly and solidly- it means a prolonged exposure.

She reads over his rant again.

.meht ees uoY .ti wonk I .diarfa eb t'noD .uoy evas ll'I .cigam dloh dlouhs taerg eht ylno, enim eb noos lliw rewop riehT .thgil taht fo naelc uoy burcs ll'I .enim ylno eb ot ll'uoy ecneserp ym ni ksab uoy ecnO .daed eht tsurt t'nod dna namuh-non eht etah, rebmemeR .noos uoy htiw eb ll'I 

_Oh yeah Juno, definitely a whole new level of dangerous. _

End Panic and Dread or Bed?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: And there is the second half of chapter eleven. Hope you like it and maybe some things are getting clearer. I don't know when I'll update again because NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow, but hopefully two chapters on one day (on Halloween no less) will make up for any breaks.

CURRENT POLL RESULTS: You people are violent, 11 of you have threatened me if I put it on hiatus. 8 say post as I go, 5 just want any post, 3 are gentler souls who will wait, 3 thought I was dead (I'm not, mostly), and 1 of you cares not what I do (thanks, I love you too).


	14. The Man in The Mirror

**Pieces In A Pocket**

Authoress: Wee-Me

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Betelgeuse or any of his friends. I do own Marshal and his family, even though it doesn't enthuse me. I probably own the term Juno-brow.

Chapter Title: The Man in the Mirror

Used Items: None

Begin Chapter 14 (=12)

The rest of the morning, after the scare on the stairs (something about it is still niggling at the back of her mind), has been very productive. Her new decorations from…well, from him, are up around the room and a mild clean up is going on while a few canvases begin to dry their gesso coats. It wouldn't do to start an art project and have to leave it in the middle to chat with Juno, but with cleaning any excuse is good enough to leave it. The radio is blasting an oldies station and she is under the bed with her feet kicking time from beneath the dust ruffle. It is amazing what strange things end up under beds: clothing, shoes, what looks to be a living room of a tiny person made of old art supplies ('_probably best to leave that alone'_), and so on.

_Why would someone make a chair out of a paintbrush? Glad it was a broken one. Ask Juno later and move on. Hey, I thought I'd lost that scarf. _

The rummaging continues and debris flies from the dark to form a pile beside the bed. It is into this pile that Juno poofs herself and is thankful Lydia doesn't see the ungraceful bobble she makes as she finds her balance. The wicked grin she can feel through the mirror nearest her lets her know she isn't wholly free from humiliation.

_Mustn't blush or squirm, Juno, he'll be even worse if you do. Maybe if I bring up that bar on the Border he won't be so smug. _

A short cough, which sounds strange and uniquely Juno coming from both mouth and throat, startles Lydia from her burrowing. It also causes her to flail in a comical, if painful, fashion that will no doubt leave bruises on top of her bruises. She crawls out from under her bed with her milky skin stained pink with embarrassment.

"Hehe. Hey Juno, been here long?"

The usual rush of maternal instincts that Lydia inspires in her are in full force as Juno helps the girl haul herself to her feet. She brushes a few cobwebs from the girl's hair and lets her hand whisper over the dark bruises on her arms.

"What am I going to do with you Kid?"

"Buy me a pony and take me to Disneyland?"

The absurdly hopeful look on Lydia's face is both amusing and saddening- the fact that a childish escape is so appealing in the face of her current troubles (especially since she isn't entirely comfortable around that many cheerful living people) makes Juno feel a little worse for not having been able to protect her.

"Sorry, fresh out of ponies. Plus, I think only good little girls who keep their room clean get to go to Disneyland. How about we head down for lunch instead? I'm sure you're hungry after all that excavating and we need to have a chat."

"It isn't about _the problem_ is it? 'Cause I've had more than enough of him for a lifetime."

"We can just catch up for now, but before I leave we will be discussing some things."

Juno never leaves any room for argument, or at least it seems so to Lydia, so they'll have that talk whether she wants to or not.

_Doesn't mean I can't put it off for as long as possible though. Unless of course she uses the Juno-brow and then I'm screwed. _The Juno-brow, as Lydia dubs it, is Juno's secret weapon- with only that arched eyebrow she can turn Lydia from a mostly-adult woman to a little girl desperate to be out of trouble. _Must be a mother thing, _she figures sinceBarbara has a weaker version and her Mom had one as well.

"Fine, let's go talk. But for now let's talk about something fun. Did you ever get that guy's skull out of the coffee maker?"

They tromp down the stairs while Juno regales her listeners with amusing stories and Lydia tries to avoid jumping at her own shadow. She feels silly enough taking up so much of Juno's time dealing with some freak, it would mortify her if the case worker found out that the girl who talks to ghosts (and not just those in her home), writes stories of the strange for a living, and once petted a sandworm is out and out terrified of one sniveling mortal boy. Once in the kitchen where they always congregate Lydia plays hostess as she always does, the normalcy soothes her. Offers of food and drink are made and accepted before they take "their" seats, the routine is the same in any situation even if Marshal is hanging over their heads as surely as if he dangled by a noose from the light fixture over the sink. After Juno recaps her recent escapades and Lydia catches her up on the goings on in the Deetz/Maitland homestead there is only the book tour and the Marshal problem left to discuss, anything else would just be a stalling tactic. Lydia fidgets and taps her hands as the silence draws out before Juno speaks.

"Are you ready?"

"No. No, but go ahead. If we wait until I'm ready my file will be showing up on your desk before we do."

"Well I'd be able to corner you on the issue then, but I'd rather get to it now. So…" She pauses to light her next cig hoping Lydia will speak up.

"I told you what happened at the hotel and you've come up with a cunning plan, yes?"

Juno swats playfully at her hand, but she's on her fourth cigarette in an hour so it isn't a laughing matter. "I'm not going to sugarcoat this; you know I'm not good at it. We still can't find him and it's getting bad. I don't know how he's hiding, but while we're working on it I need to be sure you're safe. I've called in some favors and some reserves. There will be extra wards here, more eyes on you everywhere else (and yes, I know that's weird for you, but TDB), and some other non-human assistance will be employed."

For maybe the first time since she has known her Lydia gets to see Juno nervous, it does not make her feel any better. "You mean like the Fae?"

"Them too Kid, but I think you know where this is going. He's about yea-high, blond, needs a bath. Ringing any bells?"

"Not funny Juno."

The ghost woman just stares at the girl as she puffs on her cigarette.

"You aren't joking are you? You've been telling me for years not to even think about him and now you're asking for his help? Wait, did you make him send me that stuff? What's going on?" Lydia's knees are drawn up and her arms are wrapped around them, she's making herself small as if she is under attack. She's not trying to be petulant, but it's a lot to take in and she's already stressed to the gills. They both jump when there is a squeak from the small round hall mirror and then a thump as it jumps against the wall.

"Keep your pants on! You've been around for centuries; five more minutes won't hurt you. Now Kid, listen to me before you get yourself all worked up. First: do you trust me?"

An instant nod.

"Second: do you trust me to do my job?"

Another nod.

"Third: do you think I would put you in a situation where I didn't think you'd be safe?"

A slower nod, then a blushing headshake. "I trust you Juno, it's just a surprise. I'm taking up so much of your time and I'm not sleeping and I'm scared, jumping at shadows scared, and I don't know what to do and, and, and…" She is half-sobbing, half-hysterical, and all gasping nervous wreck. She's tried very hard to be calm throughout this whole ordeal, but she has her limits and now they've been surpassed.

"Breathe Kid, breathe! I can do without, you can't."

She throws her arms gratefully around Juno's waist and clings desperately in the offered hug; at least in Juno's arms she knows she's safe. Whatever she is trying to say is muffled in Juno's jacket so they must break the hug so it can be repeated, though it is barely a whisper.

"Is he mad?"

The mirror thumps again and this time it falls off the wall and rolls toward the living room thankfully unbroken.

"Ugh. Miserably impatient that one and he was my only office 'helper' for ages. No, he's not mad, not the way you're thinking. He'll be a jerk about it for a while probably, but it won't be a problem. Hear that Betel?" She settles Lydia back into her chair before reclaiming her own. "Now back to what you were saying earlier. You are not taking up all of my time, and even if you were I'm giving it willingly so take it, shut it, and be gracious. Don't worry about me, I'm dead, it's not like I need sleep or any of that. What you are going to do is stay safe and let us take care of you. And if you are scared you can always contact me and now you'll have someone watching over you here and the live team outside."

The mirror is still, impossibly, rolling around through the living room and now they can hear a noise coming from it that sounds like far off shouting. Juno makes an exasperated noise, but she's smiling now and her smoking is less frantic. "If nothing else he's good for a laugh. And maybe as cannon fodder. Feel any better kiddo?

Lydia wipes her face with a paper towel and dabs her nose before answering. "Yeah, I think so. It just kinda exploded out. Thanks Juno, really. But back to, uh, the comic relief over there, is he going to be loose here or stuck in the mirrors? 'Cause I trust you, but I don't know if having him running around here would be good for my last remaining strands of sanity."

It is impossible for a mirror, rolling or otherwise, to be indignant, but theirs gives it a try as it wobbles into the kitchen and circles the table like a shark.

"He's on special leave from my bosses so it's a little more complicated than In or Out. He'll be Between essentially. That way he can come through without being called if you're in danger, but won't be in your way when you aren't. You'd still be better off not saying his name and if he starts talking weddings again you have my permission to set Adam and Barbara on him. I don't think he can help being obnoxious, but he'll look out for you." As the mirror rolls by her once more Juno, without looking down, sticks out one sensible shoe and tips it glass face first on to the floor. The swearing is loud enough now Lydia can pick out a few words and resolves to look them up later for clarification and possible future use. The smile on Juno's face is impish and they both crack up. It is a good way for them to leave things for now.

"Kiddo, want to go talk to the Maitlands with me or do you want to have some peace while you can?"

"I'll take what peace I can get since I'm sure I won't have much for the foreseeable future. When will I see you next?"

Juno stoops to pluck the mirror from the floor and tucks it under her arm. "I'll check in as soon as I can. Now hug me before I go face my doom."

They embrace for a long moment (Lydia keeping well away from the mirror, just in case) before Juno steps away. The case worker marches smartly down the hall, popping the mirror on its hook as she passes, but pulling the spirit inside along behind her like a hazy banner the same substance as her smoke. It startles Lydia enough she doesn't laugh to see him being pulled along by the scruff of his neck like a naughty child. She flops into her seat and tries to sort out her thoughts before the Maitlands sic themselves on her.

Juno walks out of sight before taking the quick way up to the attic. This won't be a pleasant chat and she knows it. She smokes a calming cig in transit.

Betelgeuse is not necessarily pleased with how things are going. _I'm not a friggin' windsock or a kite! _But he's right where he should be so he won't complain…much. _Though that mirror thing was pushing the limit even if it did make my girls laugh. _He'll get Juno one day, he's had a list going for decades and someday, somehow, he will get her back. _Something bad, like a princess outfit or a Playboy bunny suit. Pink at least. Where are we? Oh, nice model. Wait. Why do I have a bad feeling about… Crap. Oh hell, not here. I don't wanna listen to her voice, it hurts my brain. Please Juno, please don't do…_

"Hello Maitlands. Front and center, I don't have all day."

_Dammit Juno. This is going on the list! You can't hear me, but I'm plotting your pink, fuzzy downfall! _

Adam remains in the model, cleaning up some new construction, and Barbara comes out to greet Juno. "Oh, hello Juno, done with Lydia?" It comes out a bit snide, but Barbara has never understood why Juno and Lydia get along so well and even she isn't sure which one she's truly jealous of. She finishes wiping her hands off (those old mortal habits are hard to break) and finally looks up.

"So have you figured out how to help Lydia? What's that? It almost looks like…"

Juno releases his collar and his more solid form reasserts itself. He slits his eyes at Juno as Barbara begins to shriek and point at him like he's a rat in the cellar.

"Good to see you too Babs."

Suddenly Adam is holding his wife behind him and begins to say a certain B-word. All hell, or at least a small suburb of it, breaks loose shortly after.

Lydia stares at the ceiling of the kitchen and winces. Even with a floor between them she can hear the goings-on. Barbara's screams, Adam's shouting, several disturbing thumps, Betelgeuse whooping, and now Juno laying down the law. She is startled by a sharp turn of phrase and then there is silence. _Man, I though Betel had a mouth on him, who knew Juno could out-swear a sailor? If this keeps up I'll probably need to use some of that. Maybe on Delia. I hope they're all okay. _Reluctantly she heads for the stairs. 

End Chapter 14 (=12)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Can I end a chapter without a cliffie? Have I mentioned that I hate the tense I've been using in this story? And that I have since like the third chapter? Alas, too late to change mid-story (and this had better at least be near the middle or I'm going to cry) so I'll just have to fix and re-post at some later date. Further info will be added to my profile so that this AN isn't any longer.

THANKS OWED TO: Shelly & Llewlyn of course, Kawaii Usagi Chan San, addi88, Jagwarakit, Dark Roswellian Angel, witchtastic, and kinokokichigai. Thanks for reviewing the last chapter guys, it means more to me than you know. ::hugs to you::

POLL RESULTS: You people are still so violent! 13 of you threatened me if I put it on hiatus (lucky number I guess). 13 said post as I go (which is the current plan), 7 wanted something & no excuses, 5 gentler souls will wait, 5 thought I was dead (we'll see, allergy season is a permanent state here), and 1 of you cares not what I do (such a jab to my emotions). Only one of you encouraged me to flee to a new fandom, the puppy eyes finally worked. Since I'm at 25 voters I think I'll shut it down, and no I didn't vote or I'd have 2 votes for the running away.


	15. It's Hard on the Loved Ones

**Pieces In A Pocket**

Authoress: Wee-Me

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Betelgeuse or any of his co-conspirators/fall-guys. I do own Marshal and his family, even though it makes me cry and I might sell them for a chocolate covered doughnut.

Chapter Title: It's Hard on the Loved Ones

Used Items: None

Begin Chapter 15 (=13)

_At least no one is dead…or more dead…deader? Whatever. _As Lydia enters the attic she shakes off her inner word debate and decides the situation is not as bad as she expected. With all the thumping she'd heard on the way up she expected the floor or beams to be cracked. The model is tipped on one leg and frozen in that position with all the little buildings hanging in mid-air. Barbara is in Juno's face working up to a good rant (_Oh, bad, __bad__ idea_) and Juno's jaw is working in a way that tells Lydia something bad is going to happen. In Juno's left fist is the misty form of Betelgeuse's arm and in her right is Adam's shirt front, they look like they've been throwing punches at the very least and possibly other things.

With a sigh, and realizing she is currently unnoticed, Lydia steps forward and stomps Juno's discarded cigarette which is charring a lovely spot onto the hardwood floor. She steps over a few bricks knocked loose from the wall and sets the table to rights. Though she feels eyes on her she starts pushing the little houses on the table in no particular order before looking over. Barbara is still shouting and carrying on, airing grievances as high volume is so much easier when you don't need to breathe. _Oh Barbara. And you wonder why Juno doesn't like you. Here comes Adam's two cents. _

Juno still looks mad enough to kill, but she is peering at Lydia with an "and-you-like-these-people?" look. The other set of eyes belong to Betel and there isn't a look behind his observation, he seems to be enjoying the view, drinking her in as if she might disappear on him any instant. Finally the Maitlands fall quiet and notice Lydia has come in. They rush to flank her on both sides, the perfect picture of parental concern that she still doesn't know how to react to exactly. It's sweet and slightly irritating, which she understands is the standard for these sorts of overprotective reactions.

"Lydia, you poor thing. Don't worry Adam and I won't let her leave that thing here. He won't be bothering you. "

Two dead voices shout "Let her?!" one in outrage and the other in incredulous amusement.

"That's right sweetie, we'll protect you." Adam gives her a one armed hug to emphasize this, which makes it awkward for Lydia when she disagrees.

"Umm, guys? I think that's what Juno is trying to do. Protect me, I mean. She wouldn't take such desperate measures if she didn't have to, 'cause I really can't imagine her wanting more work and he's always work for her. She's been trying to keep him out of this side for decades; it doesn't make sense for her to just let him loose now unless she thinks he can help."

The Maitlands look slightly betrayed and she knows there is no win in this situation. _Stupid stalker messes everything up. _

"I know you want to protect me, and I really do appreciate it, you guys are the best, but I think we should let Juno handle the protection end of things. I'm out of my depth here and I could really use you guys for the more parent-y side of things right now." They look less hurt, they really are like parents to her, but everyone in the room can feel this is just a patch- there will be more arguing, and soon no doubt.

"Splendid. Maitlands: settled. Lydia: frightened, but coping. Betel: smug, but going into a mirror. Now I'm going to work. Lydia don't hesitate to call me, the rest of you don't make her." With that Juno is gone and they are left to deal with their new tenant. Betel is in a tiny mirror downstairs (Juno always gets her licks in) and Lydia is left in the attic with her adopted parents.

"Soooo…" She looks beyond uncomfortable, she won't look at them, her arms are wrapped around her, and she's one fidget away from actually scuffing her toe. Adam steps up to the plate so-to-speak, after quickly straightening himself up, and cups her chin so she'll look at him. As he speaks he gently brushes her hair out of her eye. "I don't like this. I don't like any of this. I don't want this fruit loop chasing you, I don't like not being able to help you, and I don't want that crazy ghost in our house. I liked things so much better when I could solve things by helping you study or letting you dance in the air. But if it will keep you safe I'll get past this and do whatever it takes to protect you. Now do you need anything before I make myself scarce in the model? I'm sure you ladies need your privacy about now."

Adam has a knack for this father-daughter stuff that always manages to surprise Lydia. She steps forward into a hug and rests her cheek against the soft flannel of his shirt, just over his heart. _He would have been a great father. I'm glad I get to have him as "my Adam" at least. _

"No, thanks, I think Barbara and I can handle things for a bit. Thank you though."

In a blink he's gone and only the women are left. Barbara gestures to the couch and they both settle in for a chat as they have many times before, though for less serious conversations.

"I'm not as good at this as Adam. I mean I'm not going to be as accepting." She runs her hands over Lydia's and stops the girl from speaking with her sad, yet angry, expression. "_I_ want to save you. I want to be the one who you turn to. Be the one who rescues you from this. Not Juno, not those men outside, not that half-wit pervert ghost, or Charles, or Delia. Not even Adam. Just me. They practically gave you to us to finish raising, especially Delia, and I want to be a mother to you. Maybe it makes me selfish, but I feel like I'm your mother and should be the one taking care of you. In this situation I'm…" She trails off looking so frustrated and hopeless that Lydia can't help but feel bad for the situation her fame has gotten them into.

"Doing fine Barbara, you're doing just fine. This isn't a situation that comes up often in parenting or in the guides that go with it from what I've heard. And you have been like a second mother to me. You've even managed to cancel out some of Delia's nonsense."

"Why do I sense a 'but' looming in your next sentence?"

"Because there is one. You are great at mothering, _but _I think Juno has been trying as well. Actually she's more like an aunt or a mentor than a mother exactly, but it's kind of the same thing. She's my friend at any rate and she only wants to help. I trust her and I believe she'd do everything in her power to help me."

Barbara sighs and heaves herself up from the couch like the weight of the world is pressing her down. "Okay, here's my plan: I'm going to leave this one to Juno and go spend some time in the model with my wonderful hubby ranting about this. But if you need anything, and I mean _anything_, you call and Adam or I, or both, will come running. Even if you just want someone to distract that menace Juno set loose in here. Okay?"

Moments like these with the Maitlands always warm Lydia's parental affection starved heart. She nods when the lump in her throat prevents words. She let's Barbara wrap her up in a hug before she heads for the stairs. "Thanks Barbara. And if you or Adam need anything the same rules apply."

Downstairs Betelgeuse is cursing fluently in several languages. _Okay Junebug, this round to you. But how am I s'posed to protect what I can't see? _There is only one mirror in the attic and he can't reach it for some reason. He has already scoped out all the other mirrors and reflective surfaces he can find in all the other rooms of the house in a sort of perimeter check. He's discovered that Delia's wardrobe is still filled with a distressingly large number of shiny clothes and that Lydia has knives and other protective items hidden throughout her room.

Now he is stuck waiting for Lydia to grace him with her presence. His own sweet Lydia all pale and lovely, and if Juno's revelation proves true he plans to never let her go. All he has to do is keep her safe from some stupid breather and then charm or argue his way into staying on. _Not a problem. Like shootin' fish in a barrel. Oh I hope I didn't jinx myself. Oh crap that's definitely a jinx. Damn. Juno'll kill me if I mess this up and I'll lose Lyds for good. Oh the hell I am! _He's overjoyed to hear Lydia's steps on the stairs, both because he loves seeing her, even in her PJs and ratty bathrobe, and because he prefers arguing with people that aren't himself.

"Took ya long enough. How am I supposed to keep you safe if I can't get to where you are?"

"So you can't get into the attic? Hmm, maybe I should stay up there for the duration."

"Ha ha Babes, you're a riot. You'll stay down here like a good little girlie and keep ol' B company, 'cause I don't think you want to find out what I'd get up to being bored. You can leave the attic to the dead yokels, you say my name a few times, and we can get down to business. Sounds like a plan." His hopeful grin is just too much and she chuckles all the way back to her bedroom. He is somehow in all the mirrors in her room at once when she enters.

"Okay, that's just too freaky. Pick one mirror and stick with it if you don't mind." He humors her, for now.

"I was serious back there Babes, let me out so we can talk."

"We're talking now just fine. Besides, Juno would have my head and I need to work. I appreciate you helping me, but I'm not letting you out. I know that we're probably going to have to have a serious discussion about the past at some point, but right now I just want to work."

She is studiously avoiding looking at him though he keeps bouncing from mirror to mirror trying to catch her eye. She opens the curtains just wide enough to spill a strip of light across her work table then sits down to draw. He waits a beat for her to quit joking, then another. "You're seriously just plannin' to ignore me huh?"

"No, but I have to work. Only so many allowances can be made for this situation and I've got people breathing down my neck about when the new book is going to be done."

He moves up to the ceiling to view her work and watch her fight with the sleeve of her robe when it smudges up her drawing. He squints at the image and turns several times before it dawns on him what he's seeing. "Uh Babe? Why're you drawing my picture?"

End Chapter 15 (=13)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hmm, not very long, the next won't be either since it's another Marshal-flashback-thing. Ah, conflicted parental figures, emotional creative type rambling around in her robe, poltergeist in bodyguard mode, and somewhere a lurking crazy…yup, I enjoy writing. See profile for further info.

THANKS OWED TO: Shelly (and Loki-boy if he still gets read to), Loonalily, Hinata245, Kawaii Usagi Chan San (hugs to you, just 'cause), Onitsu Blackfeather, pendras cornielius, and CaptainJacky24. Thanks for reviewing the last chapter guys and gals (mostly gals I'd guess), it seriously cheers me up and on.


	16. Bad, And Soon

**Pieces In A Pocket**

Authoress: Wee-Me

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Betelgeuse or any of the others, only Marshal and his family, I think that's bad enough without anyone trying to sue me. This is for fun (and saving my sanity), not profit.

Chapter Title: Bad, And Soon

Used Items: None

Begin Chapter 16 (=14)

_4 MONTHS AGO_

No one in Marshal's home has slept in days. At least. Mother has him constantly moving- taking care of the herbs, running strange items to her workspace, and generally running him ragged. The Great Work takes much from them both. His days are filled with letting his blood and following Mother's strict instructions. The feeling that something life altering looms on the horizon is palpable, he can feel it in the still air in their home. When he asks Mother about it all she'll say is 'soon'. He is beside himself with excitement. Somehow he knows that he'll have his lady love soon, that's the soon Mother must mean. _She's mine, mine, mineminemine…_ He chants the word mine under his breath constantly as he works, too tired and crazed to know he's doing so.

He only breaks through the haze when mail time comes. With it comes a most unwelcome missive straight from the law offices of Webley, MacDonald, and Sumner on behalf of a publishing company on behalf of an agent on behalf of one Lydia Deetz. _Poor darling, how dare they go behind your back like this? And I'll bet the cretins charged you for this. _In the careful way of legal terminology it threatens him direly on what will happen if he contacts Lydia again or makes claim to own her, her art, or anything else pertaining to her as he has in several letters and fan-sites. _She __is__ mine you fools. No one else will ever love her like I do and she would never have anyone else. She loves me, I know it. _It also has a date for civil court should he continue.

Sending lowly investigators as muscle, their last effort to dissuade him, didn't work so now they're appealing to his pocket book. The phrases 'mental anguish' and 'financial settlement' leap out at him from the stack of pages; they want to rob him for supposedly upsetting his soul mate. He leans against the mantle and strokes her picture, she gave it to him early in their relationship after one of his letters and he keeps it framed in a place of importance. Some would say that it was only a public relations move to send a fan a photo, but he knows it is a sign.

"Don't you worry my angel, you'll be home soon. Then all your stories will be for me. You'll be my own little storybook won't you? We'll be so happy, you'll see." He takes the letter to Mother so they can choose a plan of action, still muttering 'mineminemine' under his breath as he descends.

In a different house, far away, a dark haired girl twists in her sheets as a chain-smoking specter worries over her. Juno can feel something bad on its way and can't help but wonder if maybe her help won't be enough. 

End Chapter 16 (=14)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A short chapter, 'cause there's only so much of this guy I can stand. Blergh. Also Kawaii Usagi Chan San got in the 100th review (thanks sweets) so she got a drabble request and it should be up soon. (Part of my "13 Posts of Halloween". Further notes in my bio.) Please enjoy.

THANKS OWED TO: BeetleBend (formerly xXxBenderxXx), Kawaii Usagi Chan San, Shelly, addi88, The Non-Existing Person, pendras cornelius, and anyone else who read.


	17. Cheaper Than Therapy

**Pieces In A Pocket**

Authoress: Wee-Me

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Betelgeuse or any of the others, only Marshal and his family, I think that's bad enough without anyone trying to sue me. This is for fun (and saving my sanity), not profit.

Chapter Title: Cheaper Than Therapy

Used Items: None

Begin Chapter 17 (=15)

The face on the paper is not an exact duplicate of his own, but there is more than a passing resemblance. It is more fae-like than he thinks of himself, _pointed ears _he notes absently, but it could almost pass for a portrait of him from back in his misspent living days. That is, if he'd had access to dental care, regular baths, and if his canines had been more pointed and flashed charmingly when he grinned. If you ignore the teeth, add a little mold (even if he's reduced in deference to Lydia's skin), some circles around the eyes and a little death pall, you'd nearly have his current look. When he looks to Lydia she seems just as surprised to see his face under her hand.

"Oh, huh, didn't realize I was drawing. Habit!"

She's a little pink, but otherwise seems at ease with this turn of events. But, she's heading for the door before he can reply. _Can't have that._ He nudges the door shut with a tendril of energy.

"Now now Lyds, it's not nice to run out on ol' B. Why don't you explain the picture?"

"I did: habit. Now I'm going to get a drink so open the door."

"So drawing me is a habit of yours, nice. Must be all those years of pining. Now that I'm here though you should focus on wedding plans. Dress, flowers, all that stuff. I'll share mine to get you started: marry Lydia, stay married to Lydia, the end."

She looks flabbergasted, turned to face him with arms akimbo. "Did Juno drop you on your head? I did not, do not, will not pine for you, you egotistical lunatic. I wouldn't marry you before, what makes you think I would now?" She does not consider this a lie, any stray thinking she's done about him over the years she would call moping. She'd rather eat grave dirt than let him know that.

He looks skeptical and smug. "Who you trying to convince Babes?"

"If you must know…"

"Oh I must, I must," he drawls. She squashes the thought that his voice is sexy before it can bloom.

"Gloating is uncalled for and unattractive. Now if you must know, I first started drawing you to show up Delia." She ignores his surprise and confusion. "I'm not particularly proud of it, but you must have seen how she and I were back then, and she kept going on and on about how perfectly accurate her statue of you was. And she hadn't even gotten that close to you or talked to you or anything! I just couldn't resist knocking her down a peg. I feel bad about being petty now. Sort of. Maybe not as much as I should, it does still feel good to beat her." She gazes away a moment, then shakes it off. "Anyway, I drew a bunch of sketches, did some watercolors, you name it, before I got it, or rather, _you_, right. By then I was trying to write my first novel and I needed a villain…"

He interrupts, "So you thought of me? Typical breather."

His face disappears from the mirror, but she can still feel him there. She knows she's hurt his feelings, probably made him mad too. She sighs deep, from what feels like her toes. She's been doing that a lot lately.

"B, I'm going down to the kitchen for a drink, when I get back will you let me explain?"

He doesn't answer and she heads down the stairs with much less energy than she'd started out of her chair with.

She makes a quick stop at her office/library before she goes back to her room. She considers her pre-tour emptied kitchenette as she passes, whether it would be worth the effort to move the groceries up to her floor rather than running downstairs for every little thing, discards the idea as too much effort for now. She shoulders the door open and drops her burden on to the bed before searching the mirrors.

"B? I know you're there. You know this whole thing is less freaky when I can see you watching me right? Not by a lot, the staring is always weird, but it's less nerve-wracking when I can see where it's coming from."

He has to smile at her even through his fading annoyance. Because she's his girl. Because she's talking to him with easy familiarity, without the fear he's used to, and this is what he's been missing even when he didn't know he was missing anything. The fact that's she's still in her jammies doesn't hurt either. "I'll try to keep that in mind Babes. Sooo I believe you were gonna explain…" He lets it trail off, doesn't want to seem too eager or like it matters to him if she really thinks he's a bad guy. It's sorta true, and it does matter, but he's hoping she doesn't.

She pushes through the scattered pile of books before waving one at his mirror. "See this? My first book: Prey for Rain. It's about this faerie sorceress, Magda, and her travels. She's just left her village to go on her coming-into-adulthood quest and stumbles into all this weird stuff."

"She looks like you." It does look like her, on a forest path with evil eyes staring out at her from the shadows.

"Something like. I actually based her looks on my mother. Anyway, she's roaming around getting into trouble when she starts hearing about this big evil. Naturally she goes toward the danger."

"She _sounds_ like you. And I'm guessing the evil'd be me?"

She scowls at him. "No to both. Now since it's my story, why don't you let me tell it hmm?" He flicks his hand at her negligently, just to see her get her ire up. "Jerk. The big evil is Nameless and his favorite trick is sending plagues through storms before he sends his minions to take over, hence the title."

"His name is Nameless? You actually _named_ a character Nameless? Oh that's going to get some mocking later. But more importantly where I am I in this?"

"The character that I _loosely_ based on you is a minor irritant compared to Nameless. Mostly he just gives her a hard time, gets in her way, all cryptic hints and innuendo. He's annoying." There's a biting emphasis on that last word he ignores.

"Does he have a name or is he nameless too? Is your book like 'who's on first?'?"

"Juno was right, you aren't funny. He's Bastien Bade, though the Bastien is mostly gone since Magda only calls him Bade or various words I can't say in front of Barbara. He thinks he's the best wizard/mage alive. He started off as a mystery and it seemed like he might be in league with Nameless, but it turns out in the later books he isn't. He's a weasel, but not really evil."

"I don't know what kind of name Bastien is s'posed to be, but what I really wanna know is when he gets Maggie into bed."

Heaven help her, but his leer is almost cute. Plus he isn't too far off the mark about where her latest book (and the next in the works) are heading.

"It's French and shut up, let's see you come up with a better name. And according to my readers they've 'clearly' been at it behind the scenes since the beginning. You should see some of the stuff I find on the web. Or not actually considering it's you… Anyway, any more than that on this series you'll just have read yourself. My other series is kid lit, heavy on pictures and I get to focus on the art. The dragon in those is sort of based on you. He grants wishes, but they never turn out like the person hopes and in the end that's for the best. I can leave these out for you if you'd like to look at them."

He nods absently, lots to think over, and she takes that as a sign she can go back to work.

_A perverted morally-grey wizard and a trickster dragon that plays genie, that's how she sees me? At least her fans see the romance. _

"So you get to write out turning me down, huh? Make me seem like the bad guy and get everyone believing it? I'm sure Juno and your family eat that up." He's mulled it over a while before speaking again and manages to startle Lydia after the long silence.

"Huh? No. No, that's not it at all. Well, not anymore. Maybe at first, but… Look…" He has her all flustered, tripping over her own thoughts and nearly drinking from the cup she's been dipping her paintbrushes in. He pulls the cup away with another boost of Juice and takes pity on her, gesturing her back over to the bed for a chat. She settles in the middle facing the big mirror and he settles as best he can in the odd betweenspace of this new confinement.

"Try again Lyds, this time with more coherency and less poison drinking. I've got enough to protect you from already."

She doesn't quite roll her eyes, but he can tell she wants to. "Maybe if you'd given me a second to think instead of blind-siding me then I'd be coherent. The really concise version is that while I may have had you as the villain at first I don't anymore."

"That's a good thing, very good, but I still want the slightly longer version that actually has an explanation in it."

She huffs out a breath. "I'm guessing you wouldn't settle for 'it's complicated'?" He shakes his head and grins at her with all his teeth. "Figures. Okay, so I started drawing you to show up Delia, but I've always been 'artsy' as Dad would say. I've also always dabbled with writing, but these stories- like the illustrations- came about for reasons other than a love of the craft. I was sixteen and already pretty messed up when we met. Our little encounter didn't do me any favors."

She's too busy staring at her hands and avoiding his eyes to see him wince.

"I'd already been suicidal before I saw the Maitlands, but Delia told Dad I was just acting out when I tried the pills. The thing is that when Mom died everyone said how much happier she was, I took it literally for a really long time- that if I died I'd be happier. Guess it stuck because I was so messed up without her. I was in counseling before we moved, but I couldn't get in here (a) because this town doesn't have one and (b) after you I couldn't talk to a normal breather doc anyway."

_She spends too much time with the dead if she's calling them breathers. And this is yet another black mark on the Deetz's parenting record. I can't believe Juno would let this go on. _He leaves it for now though.

"Adam and Barbara asked Juno to find me a dead shrink to talk to, but she couldn't find one with a spot open or that was willing to deal with my 'delicate situation'. I couldn't talk to Dad, and Delia was out of the running for obvious reasons. Even Barbara and Adam were out. Everyone just wanted so badly to get things back to normal. The only one I could really talk to was Juno and she had enough on her plate without listening to me all the time, so I started writing all this stuff down in an old notebook. One of the black and white composition kind like my Mom always wrote in."

She quiets for a moment and he can practically see her mind wander off. There's a soft smile on her face that he knows isn't for him, but he soaks it in anyway. She's far away in her childhood spending time with her Mommy. He watches and waits patiently until she comes back to herself and the story.

"Right, sorry, anyway I remembered how she used to make normal stuff into big stories- like if we went grocery shopping it was a heroic quest or how my chores were like Hercules' tasks. Writing out my thoughts like that was so much easier than trying to tell the whole truth and after a while it sparked my imagination for these books." She pauses to fetch her drink and he multi-tasks by leering as she crawls off the bed and irritating her verbally.

"This is all well and good, but get to the part about me."

"Juno was right, as always, you have the patience and attention span of a gnat. I'm getting to it. And I'll have you remember that you didn't want the short version."

"Yeah, but I didn't want the unabridged encyclopedia version either. I'm more your instant gratification kind of guy, you know that."

She quirks an eyebrow, a fair Juno impression. "I do?"

Speaking of Juno, she recalls one the specter's stories about a newly released Betel and his favorite prank. She flicks her gaze over his shoulder and back to his face.

"That's what you were supposed to say. See, that's what I mean. Why would I do a long courtship and engagement when I could skip ahead to the good part?"

"But maybe, and I stress the huge maybe here, if you had made nice and done all that stuff you'd have had a delayed gratification- which is better than the none that you got." _Shouldn't have said that. _

Lydia knows she's in way over her head baiting him like this, but his egotism and stunned face egg her on. He suddenly matches her grin with a sly one of his own.

_Not good._

"So you're saying if I'd played nice I could have gotten some?"

_Knew he'd go there, knew it! _

She shrugs and tosses her hair like she's seen Barbara do. "We'll never know now, will we?"

"Oh I dunno about that, we'll just have to see what happens in round two won't we?"

"I'm not sure that a 'rematch' is what Juno had in mind when she brought you here." She squints, like she's trying to see past him.

He flicks his hand like he's waving smoke away. "Oh who cares what Juno thinks?"

She locks eyes over his shoulder in the mirror and waves. "Hey Juno, checking in?"

He whirls, as much as he can, to make peace. "Junebug, you know I was just…"

Lydia watches his emotions play out across his posture- fear of Juno, surprise at her absence, then a slump and head-shake that acknowledges he's been had by the oldest trick in the book. His girl is good, and it would be just like Juno to pop in if she heard her name. He's proud as much as embarrassed.

"Not nice Babe, really not nice."

"But I thought you didn't care what she thinks?" She practically purrs the question in smugness.

He glowers at her half-heartedly. "Respect your elders little miss, it isn't right to scare them with their former bosses. Especially those that have threatened to exorcise or emasculate them."

She snickers on unrepentant. "Juno said that? When? And why?"

He rolls his eyes, and man can the dead roll their eyes, and thinks rude thoughts about the humor of women. "I think not my little Lyddiebug, you're suppos'ta be tellin' me a story, not the other way 'round." _She's so cute when her nose wrinkles like that._

"First, don't call me that. Second, who interrupted me, hmm? Third, why do all your pet names have bug in them?"

"I think if you'll remember how people say my name you'll have your answer. Now on with the story, a guy could die again waitin' here."

"Hmph. Anyway, I started writing out that night with you. At first I just wanted a record of what had happened, how scared I was, how relieved I was, what everyone had done and how I felt about it. But once I started thinking about it, really thinking about it, I realized I wasn't as innocent as I wanted to be. I wrote it a thousand different ways, but I couldn't get away from it. I _wanted_ you to be the villain, for all of it to be your fault, because I didn't want to take any of the blame myself. And I didn't want to admit that you were probably more blameless than the rest of us for that night."

He's at a loss, but in a happy way. She points a finger and stern expression at him. "That does NOT excuse either thing with the snakes and my dad, or the finger thing. Or for us having to deal with those snobs stuck in our ceiling. Or for being a huge perv to Barbara. But I agreed to marry you and then I broke my word, just like everyone expects a silly breather girl to do and I didn't like that about myself. I wanted to paint you in a bad light so that I could feel better about being a deal breaker."

He considers a moment, blame and guilt and forgiveness from both sides, before he tuts at her and shakes his head. "Nah, I don't think about you like that. The way _I_ remember it you made the deal, yeah, had the fabulous dress and all that, and had a case of the jitters for a minute at the altar. You only tried to say my name once. If you were really that silly girl like you said I'd have had to use that zipper to shut _you_ up." He smiles at her in such a kind way that she wishes she could hug him. "'sides, I bet Juno already told you, but the wedding couldn't have stuck anyway- I didn't have all the frickin' paperwork done and the waiting period was a whole day."

He says paperwork like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth and it makes her smile, just like he planned. "Of course, if you still feel bad, we could always call the padre and…"

She cuts him off. "And you were doing _so well_ right up to that."

"Can't blame a 'geist for tryin' babe."

"Oh, but I can. Juno even told me I _should_."

He throws his hands up and grumbles good naturedly. "Women! Ganging up on little ol' me and plottin' things."

"Oh B, you know it's all in good fun. And you don't have it half as bad as Bade does with Magda."

"Oh yeah?"

"They never give each other a moment's peace when they're together, or apart even, and she never gives him an inch if she can help it. She once stole his voice and kept it three days while he was in the middle of one of his tricks."

"Hey! That's sorta me there."

"He gives as good as he gets. He went around ahead of her on one of her quests telling villagers about their upcoming wedding and she couldn't make it five steps in a village without someone giving her advice on marriage and weddings. She didn't know what was going on until she caught up to him a few villages later."

"That kinda sounds like something I did to Juno one time."

"You mean the memo you sent around?"

"Yeah, it was great, you shoulda… whoa, wait, how'd you know about that?" His face can stretch in ridiculous ways and his suspicious expression does not disappoint in that regard.

"Squint any harder and your eyes are going to lock shut. Juno told me the memo story. And the thing with the lizard. Plus that whole 'somebody's behind you' thing I just did to you." He sputters as she talks over him. "The reason you hate Ohio. Why you always put the pillow up your shirt. The thing you have about nuns. Ooh, and the time…"

"Wait just a damn minute, the hell kind of thing is this? Some kind of woman conspiracy thing? This isn't right."

"Aww, poor Betel, can't handle the girls ganging up on him."

"You're damn right! There's no way for a man to fight this kind of attack. An' Juno promised she'd never tell about the nuns, gave her word I think. Why'd she tell you about this stuff anyway? I'm out there in the waiting room goin' crazy, planning' a wedding (oh don't start with the face girlie), worryin' about you bein' here maybe shacked up with some stupid jerk or maybe getting your wish and seein' how the other half doesn't live- all that time she's telling you embarrassing stuff about me."

He's working himself up, either to a longer rant or a sulk, he isn't sure which, when he notices her hand against the mirror. She's moved closer, kneeling at the head of the bed to face him.

"B, Betel, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. Juno told me those stories, and just the ones she'd seen or was involved in, not to embarrass you, but to have something for us to talk about. The first one was a few months after you, well, happened, and I think she was trying to show you aren't scary."

He makes a face in token protest.

"I mean, that of course you're scary, but not like I thought? Look, I can either explain or pet your ego and I'm better at the first. You're something she and I have in common so we've talked about you, plus she has a different perspective on you from knowing you so long. Anyway, I didn't think the nun story was bad. I thought you were brave to save the Sisters; I even made a trip out to their orphanage to see the place. It's really nice."

He smiles his sweet boy-with-a-crush smile. "You that interested in me?"

"Oh hush." It's not a denial and she's blushing, she can tell he's never going to let this go. The fact that he's right has nothing to do with it.

"It's okay, you're s'posed to be all in'erested in your guy. 'm sure it shows up in those mags women are always readin'."

She doesn't sigh, just rubs her face, but if she were a ghost she'd have pulled the whole thing off. "You're just impossible."

"I'll take that as a compliment. How'd you make yourself sound like Juno all the sudden?"

"It wasn't intentional, but years of contact with her could be it or maybe the stories she told me prepared me to be annoyed without screaming or pulling my hair out, just feeling very tired. The stories her receptionist told however informed me of creative ways you could be tortured if necessary."

"The Beauty Queen? Pfft, she's full of it, hasn't managed to do a third of what she threatens."

"No? Well she's given me lots of ideas just the same."

It's his turn to be alarmed by her grin. "Hehe, maybe you should go back to work and I'll just sit over here with all my parts attached."

She smiles and pats the mirror where his shoulder appears to be. "That sounds like a good idea."

He waits until she's back at her desk, but has to know one thing before she gets back to work.

"Babe, what exactly did Juno tell you about the pillow thing?"

"Just that you use it as a disguise, 'to keep the girls from throwing themselves at you' or something. Why?"

"No reason, get to work there girlie. I'm gonna go check the wards or something."

She shakes her head as he disappears. "Men," she mutters absently, too focused on the page to put much bite into it.

Betelgeuse zooms along the perimeter of the warding, checking the barrier surrounding the house. His mind though is more focused on blessing Juno for not telling Lydia the whole truth about the nuns or the pillow.

_Don't know if I could stand Lyds knowing all that so early in the romancing. _

He checks everything twice before deeming it an adequate layer of protection for his girl, behind his own of course, before heading back to her.

End Chapter 17 (=15)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: *waves* Hi. I won't explain/excuse my absence (check my bio if you want to know); I'll try not to be so tardy again. Thanks to everyone who commented and have no fear, this story isn't dead until I am (and I'm willing to write from the Otherside if someone will type it). I will spare you all the little details I'd like to share (name meanings and such) and put those in my blog instead. So a chatty chapter and for once it doesn't end with a cliffhanger… though I can't be the only one that hears the "Jaws" theme starting up. The nun thing is covered in my story "Defeated by Nun" and in chapter 3, you don't have to read that story to get this though I don't think. Anywho, thanks for reading, reviews are love. Next chapter- what happened on Lydia's book tour.

THANKS OWED TO: Llewlyn, Shelly, The Non-Existing Person, Cephlesto, pendras cornelius, Grim Bonez, anonymous, LoliPear, Lulu/-originalnamehere-, LucksFullMoon, Sayoko-senpai, xqulth, OceanFire9, 2ORIginalCents, Serendipity's tears, Aurora of the Lilies, doneandone, RabbitVasque, and anyone else who read/faved/added this to their watch list. Appreciate your patience guys and gals.


	18. THE TOUR

**Pieces in a Pocket **

Authoress: Wee-Me

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own anything to do with this except a dvd copy (and I'd own a copy of the cartoon, but one doesn't exist). I own the family of Marshal, but that's its own punishment, suing me after that would be cruel. This is fun, not for profit.

Chapter Title: THE TOUR

Used Items: None

Begin Chapter 18 (=16)

-TWO MONTHS AGO-

Lydia had been excited about the book tour when the idea first came up. A real tour would make her feel like she had truly made it as an author. Maybe it would settle those lingering doubts she had about her career.

That was before her book even got published. It was just a nebulous goal to look forward to if her book did well. That was before Marshal.

Now that it's time for her to actually leave home, to visit fans, sign autographs, do readings, and interviews- all the things she'd been looking forward to- she's scared witless. All the joy and giddiness she should be feeling is dampened under the fear that his face will be looking back at her in the audience.

* * *

She's tried to back out, but no one sided with her. Delia told her to use the whole thing to drum up attention. Charles told her to "talk to your people, that is what you pay them for" before he went back to his newspaper. They, the 'people', assured her of her safety and the strength of the security team. The Maitlands told her they'd support her decision either way ("Cop-out!" her mind screamed), but brought up her stage fright in high school as if that explained away her concerns.

She'd thought for sure that Juno would be in her corner, but even sensible, dependable Juno had turned on her.

_Sounds a little paranoid when you put that way self. _

Juno had logical reasons, of course, but that hadn't made her feel any better at the time. Still doesn't.

"I think you should go," Juno had said when Lydia asked her.

"What? You're supposed to agree with me!" Lydia's indignance clearly amused the older woman.

"You're scared and you have every right to be. Best that you are, since it will make you more careful, but I don't want you to lose this opportunity."

"I've done mini-tours before and I'm sure there could be another big tour later."

"There could be another creep down the road too." She stabbed the air with her cigarette for emphasis. "I remember how excited you were when you started talking about this tour. You wanted to get out and meet the reading world and I want that for you. I can't promise you won't see this guy out there, but I will promise to do everything I can to help you"

Lydia ran her hands up and down her arms to comfort herself. "I don't know Juno…"

"Sit down Kid, sit down and look at me. Now tell me the truth, would you like to go? Don't think about this situation or whether the Maitlands will be lonely or what Delia might do to the house. Tell me what you want."

Lydia sat chewing her lip for a long time in the quiet. Her answer was hesitant when it came, "I want to go. I think it's probably not a good idea, but I want to go out and enjoy it anyway. I love the writing, but I want to see what the readers think of it out in the world. I don't want to be stuck here being scared."

Juno patted her on the back and grinned. "That's my girl. I'll do my best to make sure you get to enjoy it. You'll have the best people on my side watching over you and I'm only a call away."

"Thanks Juno."

-Week 1-

A little over a week later Lydia is less inclined to thank Juno for pushing her- the tour is tiring and she's been seeing things. Either due to fear or lack of sleep, it doesn't matter which, she keeps seeing faces in the mirror that aren't her own and it's disturbing to say the least. And it isn't just the usual ghosts or whatevers that check in on her, it's something different, something scary. Two faces, a male she can't quite make out that she desperately hopes isn't Marshal, and a female that fills her with unease. The woman's face is blurry, but similar to hers; like catching a glimpse of herself in a foggy mirror.

She's mentioned them only to Juno when the old softie did her daily check in. It's probably a sad commentary on her life that she hopes she's having a mental breakdown, but the alternative, being watched by malevolent forces, is worse. She wants to curl up under her blankets while someone pets her hair and tells it's okay. Times like these really make her miss her mother. Any comfort would do though. If she were home Barbara would be clucking her tongue and settling her on the couch in the attic while Adam put on music. Even Delia and her father would be a nice distraction, even as distracted as they always are.

None of her close living friends are able to see the strange things she can and it's too late to call for a chat anyway. She should be sleeping, should have slept more each night since she left home, but sleep isn't on her side. "My kingdom for a nap," she mutters into the darkness. She tenses for a moment in fear it might answer back. She rests only fitfully until morning.

-Week 2-

The second week of the tour ends with a near-encounter with Marshal. He's standing outside her hotel when she gets back from a reading. He stands out among the crowds of tanned beachgoers. His skin shines sickly pale in the Florida sun reflecting from the large mirrored windows of the hotel. He smiles a cheek stretching smile, ghastly in his thin face, and wiggles his fingers in a sort-of-wave when she spots him.

Before nausea can send her lunch back out to the world her agent and one guard are dragging her back into the car. The valet goggles at them as her other guard gives chase. Later, after her guards call the all clear, they decide he'd run into the parking lot and taken off in a car. Lydia has to call Juno after everyone finally calms down and leave her alone. The lady has a short fuse if she isn't kept up to date so it won't hold 'til morning.

She primes herself up with an energy drink (_not going to sleep now anyway_) and reminding herself that Juno's ire won't be at her. No matter how scary it might be. She hits number one on her speed dial and listens to it ring. The line crackles with static, full of other voices sending out messages. EVP communication has its quirks. She hears, "Tell my husband I know about that little tra…" before her call connects.

"Juno," the specter barks.

"Hi, Juno, it's Lydia."

"Kid, what's wrong?"

"Uh, well, there was a, sort of a, a problem today."

"What _kind_ of problem?"

"He was at the hotel. Earlier today, when I got back."

There's a thump, a curse, and the flick of a lighter before she speaks again. "Are you okay? He didn't touch you did he? Hurt you?"

"No, I'm okay. He was just standing outside the hotel. The guards chased him, but lost him in the parking lot."

"I'll look into it. You want me to come over?" Juno, despite her many attempts to convince Lydia otherwise, is a big softie and her little gestures prove it.

"I don't guess so. I should probably try and catch some sleep."

"Okay Kiddo, if you're sure. Get some sleep and I'll talk to you when I know something."

"Thanks Juno." She ends the call with regret and the faint headache EVP gives her.

She's hardly slept for days and her body demands she listen to Juno, even in the face of the caffeine wall in her system. She slides into sleep like a warm bath, diving deep before the dreams can catch her.

-Week 3-

Security is tightened over the next week by her living protectors. She can't go two steps out of her room without having someone with her. There have been another couple maybe-sightings. Lydia can't figure out how Marshal keeps finding her. Only the actual tour appearance schedule was posted online and he's shown up several times at places her security is sure she couldn't have been followed to or from.

"How am I supposed to do this for another five months?" she often asks herself.

Juno's been working on a theory though and Lydia has to hope the case worker can fix things. She has faith that Juno can do nearly anything in a universal sense, and can do the most in this specific situation, even if it's just keeping her sane. And sanity is at an all time low for her little entourage- they're conducting an investigation of all her contacts to "see who the mole could be" with all the tact and kindness of the Salem Witch Trials.

Two travel agents and a hotel maid have been reduced to tears. A low level employee at her editors' office quit in protest and more were threatening to follow. There will probably be a lawsuit in there somewhere. She'd gotten ten messages and a two hour rant from Delia after she was questioned. She overheard it being discussed that "the fame whore" was a prime suspect because the peripheral drama might draw attention to her own work. Or she might do it herself. Lydia can't exactly blame them for thinking it, even if she knows it isn't true. Probably.

She's never laughed so hard about someone's perceived persecution, though she saved it all up until Delia hung up- she knew her father's wife too well to jump on that landmine. Her resolve not to laugh had been shaken by "Just because I could have done it doesn't give them the right to act like I could have done it! This is America, I'm protected from that sort of attitude by law, I'm a celebrity!" Lydia can only hope all the ruffled feathers will settle soon, because it is stressing her out and cost her a spa weekend for her parents to calm Delia down.

-Week 4-

The end of the month finds her with a slight cold that seems stress induced as much as anything. She spends three days in bed with a headache and general bad health. She's already lost weight from all this and she loses three of her public appearances and a radio interview. The last was with a shock jock she didn't like anyway, but it's the principle of the thing. The days of rest, and knock-out meds, restore her to a cautious optimism and excitement about things. This means that Murphy's Law must be enforced.

The first problem is fairly mundane, a small fire at her hotel made them relocate. No one was hurt, but the damage and smoke made it shut down. The new hotel is nice, but the fire damaged one was at least a hundred years old and had a history that spoke to Lydia. (It was a place Juno had vetted for her.) The eccentric hubby of a wealthy socialite had the hotel built as an investment property for their future, or so he told her. His actual purpose was a fortress against the evil magic he believed were being used against him. Every protective chant, charm, ward, talisman, and blessing he could find was used on the place. It, pardon the pun, worked like a charm. For the three years he lived there no magic or spirit found him. Sadly for him, none of his efforts could protect him from his angry wife's revolver when she caught him cheating.

The protection still holds decades after his death and that was very comforting to Lydia. Or at least it did until she was driven out by order of the fire marshal. She'd tried to hide in her room and bribe her way into staying, but the officials ran everyone out. The new hotel is nice, even has a nice suite for her group to stay in, but it doesn't feel half as safe. When it turns out the arsonist was hired by a twitchy guy that sounds suspiciously like Marshal, her mood turns bleak. Either he wanted her dead, or he wanted her out of the hotel.

The other problem is distressingly familiar to Lydia- Marshal notes. She finds them Sharpied on walls in the elevators, waiting at the front desk, even found one in her room service tray (needless to say she never got breakfast that day). It's the same old song and dance from him, about how they belong together and all that, but finding one on her plate pushes it over the line. She wouldn't have been able to eat anyway after seeing it, her stomach stayed in knots all day.

On the last day of her stay there the unthinkable happens, Marshal gets into her room. She's in the shower and her guards, Ben and Stephen, are in front of the television in her suite when they hear a strange noise. A hiss, then a thump under the shower spray. Lydia is blissfully unaware while she rinses her hair, but the guards are on their feet and heading for her room. They barely get there before the intruder makes it to the bathroom door. Ben takes up a defensive position in front of the door while Stephen chases the man out onto the balcony. In a glance the man is identified as Marshal, but before Stephen can get through the door he jumps the short distance to a neighboring balcony and disappears into thin air. He didn't fall and the windows over there show he hasn't crouched there to hide, but that's all they can be sure of at the time. Ben is reassuring Lydia when Stephen returns, clearly hating to answer with a shrug. The search that follows turns up nothing, even with the help of the police.

-Week 5-

The next week isn't quiet in any way other than a lack of her stalker. Lydia is booked solid tour-wise, then has a surprise visit mid-week from her parents on top of it. They bring news of the Maitlands and her hometown with them, along with the headache Delia so often causes her. She thinks Lydia is letting her looks go, needs to tan, and should dye her hair along with cutting it into a style better befitting an artiste. And she doesn't let up on this idea for the six days she and Charles spend with Lydia.

For his part, Charles mostly tells Lydia she should sleep more and chats with various members of her group about real estate and finances. Lydia feels bad that she's more interested in the cookies Barbara sent than she is in anything her parents say. She thinks over Adam's plan to make a model of Juno's office when Delia gets especially annoying.

-Week 6-

Charles and Delia are supposed to stay from Wednesday of one week to the second Saturday, but have to leave early on Tuesday morning. Someone broke into Delia's gallery. The sculptures and other works in the gallery are unharmed, only the offices are ransacked. (Funnily enough the police initially think the sculptures have been attacked, the staff has to explain that they're _supposed_ to look that way.) Address books are the target, desks and computers both were searched for them. All that was left behind was a message carved into the wall. "WHERE IS SHE" it reads beside her office door. There's no doubt who it's from.

In an instant Delia goes from sympathetic to Lydia to outraged that Lydia could be so stupid and selfish as to endanger her family. "She brought this monster into our lives with her weirdo books and her substandard art. You never see anyone stalking me, and that's because I'm normal and a true artist. Plus I'd never be so selfish as to drag my family into a situation like this. She only thinks of herself and look where that's gotten us now!" That was as much as the Maitlands could stand to listen to and relay to Juno. It goes without saying that they won't be telling Lydia.

-Week 7-

Sales are up on both her books, though more on the adult than the kid ones, but Lydia's spirits (ha, ha) are not. An unnamed source has leaked the stalker story to the press and the media frenzy begins churning up her life. Her mother's death is a talk point that gets a lot of play and she's tired of being asked about it. How did she die? Was she really at home when her mother passed? Are you worried you might be genetically predisposed? Then they follow up with questions about her step-mother and her "unique artistic style" which means she has to spend ten minutes each time describing the differences of their work without saying something that will upset Delia when it gets back to her.

Once those are out of the way they dig deeper. That's where the real trouble is. She didn't mind them messing around in the city, going to her old homes and schools, but they don't stop there. They visit her college and some of her favorite places before they find Winter River. Juno's protections against Marshal finding her home don't block the media and they pour over the town like locusts over wheat fields. They interview every shopkeeper, teacher, town leader, and passerby that claims to know her. The girls that knew her in high school that are still in town are not her friends and it shows in their interviews.

"She thoughts she was better than us, wouldn't give us the time of day," says one that used to knock her books out of her hands. "She was always in a different world than the rest of us," says another that once mocked her for liking her "silly fantasy" books. It's the remnants of one clique and they all say the same things.

Her real friends decline to comment. If there's one good thing that comes out of all the nonsense, it's the knowledge that she does have some good friends out in the world.

Security guards are posted around the house and they add more when photos of the house are released online. All hope that Marshal will never know anything about where she lives is gone.

-Week 8-

Early in the week Delia convinces the guards that someone is skulking around the property, despite their watch and the Maitlands keeping an eye out for reporters/observers. The security team report footprints around the outskirts of the property line and sightings of a male figure in a black hoodie. The folks in charge decide that Marshal is clearly in Winter River and nowhere near Lydia as she's touring the Southwest. Security tightens at the house and lightens around the girl at the eye of the storm.

Ben and Stephen are still her constant companions, sleeping in shifts all night in her room's second bed, but they are the only (living) ones as concerned about the situation as Lydia would like. Still, her army of handlers have greater clout than the nagging feeling in her stomach that Marshal isn't done bothering her directly yet or her tingling "weird sense". Said sense developed during the whole Betelgeuse fiasco and it's the only part of that experience she can say she appreciates without regret or resentment. Probably because it was inadvertent.

In any case, dealing with Betel, as Juno calls him took her intuition and tuned it to high where weird-danger is concerned. _If only it had pinged when the first letter came. Then maybe Juno could have had some prep time and we wouldn't have been so blindsided. _

Juno can only repeat what the guards have told her, "be careful, be alert, and run like hell if you see him". That advice works much better for someone firing on all cylinders. Or even half of their cylinders.

She's coming back later from an evening's appearance at a bookstore, reading to a group of kids dressed as her kid lit characters. She's bone tired. Somehow, smiling and acting like everything is fine has taken more out of her than a week of her morning jogs would have. Stephen takes point, going ahead to check the room. Ben walks with her as she drags along at a snail's pace. She catches sight of her reflection as she slogs away from the elevator, not People's Beautiful list material, probably not even prettiest pup material. Grabbing the closest carriage in the lobby put them in the furthest position from the hall so she gets a long look at herself in the mirrored walls.

The metal walls between the elevators are supposed to look like gleaming black marble, but manage only the gleaming part and overachieve in gaudy. It looks like something Delia would pick and does nothing for her reflected looks. Not that she's fretting over it too much. _Apparently that concealer doesn't actually conceal, maybe I should go the eccentric route and wear a party mask to cover those circles. If Zorro can, why not me? _

Something pings at her from the very edge of her awareness. If she were just a little less tired…

She doesn't see the dark shape form on the wall, but she does catch it when it moves across the surface. It looks like a shadow or a half reflection, but she knows it's Marshal and is on the move before her brain processes the danger. There's a sound, sort of a snake hiss crossed with a shoulder popping out of socket, and then footsteps join her own.

She focuses on Ben, slightly ahead of her now, standing where the elevators meet the hall. He's on the phone, angled to the right hall branch where Stephen's waiting in their suite. He's probably talking to his wife. Lydia can't make her voice work, this can't be happening. In her mind it's all turned into a surreal nature documentary. It has to be shock or panic or something, she can feel it setting in.

Predator stalks his prey. 

Ben ends his call and catches sight of her. And the shadowy stalker behind her.

Other animals tense in the face of this deadly hunting dance. 

It's only a couple yards, but reaching Ben's side feels like a marathon finish.

Alpha males attempt to protect weaker pack members. 

He pushes her down the hall, tells her to run.

Distracted, the alpha has put himself at risk. 

Marshal is on him before he can get fully turned. He cracks something, maybe a baton, across Ben's knee twice before leaving him where he falls.

The predator downs his catch, moves in for the kill. 

When she hears the crack of metal on flesh and bone, hears Ben cry out, Lydia's lungs finally unfreeze. She can't do anything for herself, but helping someone else always comes easier to her. She shrieks for Stephen.

In the face of a second alpha male the predator can stand and fight or leave to fight another. It's classic fight or flight. 

Her cries draw his focus back to her and she's caught. Ben is too injured to help and Stephen too far away. Something in the air feels off, like time being held back. He drops his weapon, a piece of rebar it looks like, to grab her arms.

"Shh, nobody's going to hurt you, I'm here now."

"No, nonono-" she babbles, trying to squirm away. All her self-defense training disappeared with Ben's cries of pain, except the idea of getting away.

He tightens his fingers on her arms, digging in, and slams her back into the wall to keep her from rabbiting away. "Don't be scared, we're going home like I promised. Your jailers can't keep you now. Now be good and- Lydia, stop being naughty or you'll have Mother to answer to," he says, when he has to stop pulling her to slam her into the wall when she tries to break free.

Her head thumping the wall makes her dizzy so it is only partly in defense when she drops to the floor going dead weight, and therefore harder to move. He can only drag her a few paces before Stephen is in range, but it's enough for the rough carpet to finish what the wall started, leaving her back scraped and bleeding as well as bruised. Stephen shouts something, maybe a warning? She can't tell.

Marshal's eyes scan Lydia. She watches him shiver with indecision. It's clear he wants to gather her up and take her away, but her first "jailer" is trying to rouse up and the second is on his way into the fight. Then, it seems, the choice is taken away from him. He turns away like a dog hearing its master call and he's going back to the elevators. When she hears that same wet popping sound from his arrival she fears he's found another victim to work over, but no shouts or any sound at all follow. She focuses on Ben and leaves the rest to work itself out.

Subjectively, they've been in the hall for years, but only actually a few minutes have gone by. Later, the police will tell her it's only stress that made it seem so long, but she'll wonder. Lydia scrabble crawls over to Ben along the floor. She trails blood and he grips his damaged leg, they're quite a pair. Stephen stands over them calling police, paramedics, publishers, and any other important numbers he can find. Lydia won't let him shuttle her back to the room, won't leave Ben alone in the hall, so he stands guard over them here. It feels a bit like guarding a robbed bank. She doesn't seem to notice she's bleeding.

Hours later Lydia is still bone tired, but heavily bandaged and quiet from her trip through the investigative ringer. Everyone, from the first responders to Juno, have pressed her for details that left with the fleeting adrenaline. All that remains in clear focus is Ben's leg and the cause of her injuries, most of the lead up and following details are lost to her waking mind for the moment. It's just Stephen keeping watch in her room tonight (which made calling Juno a production) as she lies down to sleep. There's a cop posted outside her door as well. Sleep is still a long time coming and it doesn't last.

Throughout the long first night and the following days she watches the dark with newly suspicious eyes and prepares to go home. Home: where she isn't certain anymore that she'll be safe. The house on the hill was the first place she ever saw a ghost, at least that she knew were ghosts up front, and the first time she'd ever been in real danger. That had never really bothered her before, but won't leave her thoughts now. It's the place she met "the ghost with the most" and her world changed forever to the strange. Maybe once this is all over it can just be home again.

End Chapter 18 (=16)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So this is where we came in with Lydia, the oft referenced tour that was cut short; chronologically chapter 4 follows this. I have no idea why this took so long to make work. Hopefully the next chapters will come easier (yes, working on multiples at once, yes that's probably not the best idea). Further babbling can be found at my bio page. Thanks for reading.

THANKS OWED TO: Everyone who waited (so long!), but especially to my reviewers. Ms.B, LoliPear the WaltzQueen, pendras cornielius, 2ORIginalCents, Serendipity's tears, OceanFire9, lilwhytwch, Kawaii Usagi San Chan (*hugs*), Zuvios Gemini, Seyfert, Bookworm Gal, SelenaWolf – you guys/gals rock. As always, thanks to Llewlyn for prodding me into fandom.

Part of my 2011 13 Posts/Days of Halloween.


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